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THE 



JOTHAM ANDERSOxN, 

Minister of the Gospel, - 



I have been young, and now am old. 
O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together. 



BOSTON : 

PUBLISHED AT THE CHRISTIAN REGISTER OFFICE. 



John B. Russell, printer. 
^ 1824. 



^\|A- 



61* 
6 






DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to wit: 

District Clerics office. 
BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the eighth day of March 
A. D. 1824, in the forty eighth year of the independence of 
the United States of America, David Reed of the said Dis- 
trict, has deposited in this office the title of a book the right 
whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: 
" The Recollections of Jotham Anderson, Minister of the 
Gospel. 

I have been young, and now am old. 

O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name 
together."'' 

In Conformity to an act of the Congress of the United States, 
entitled, " An act for the encouragement of Learning, by se- 
curing the Copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors 
and proprietors of such Copies, during the times therein men- 
tioned ;" and also to an act entitled, " An Act supplementa- 
ry to an Act, intitled, An Act for tbe encouragement of 
Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, 
to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies during the time 
herein mentioned ; and extending the benefits thereof to the 
Arts of Designing, Engraving and Etching Historical, and 
other Prints: 11 J.NO. VV, DAVIS, Chrh of the pistrict 

of Massachusetts, 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The following chapters are republished, 
with very slight alterations, from the 
Christian Register, where they had ap- 
peared as they icere written from week to 
week. The author has been gratified to 
learn that they are thought to be of good 
tendency, and has consented that they shall 
appear in the present form, although his 
plan is far from being completed. IVIieiher 
it will be carried on to a completion or noi> 
depends upon circumstances which cannot 
be foreseen. In the mean time it will be a 
subject of grateful rejoicing to him, if his 
humble fragment shall be the means of 
doing any thing for that personal religion, 
which is the first and greatest concern of 



RECOLLECTIONS, &c 



CHAPTER I. 

I have lived long enough in the world to 
exhaust all its pleasures, and to be more 
than wearied with its cares. Like other 
old men, I look back, upon a life of min- 
gled joy and sorrow, light and darkness, 
and take an equally melancholy satisfaction 
in the remembrance of each. There is one 
light, as I look back, which I see shining 
every where ; brighter than the sun of my 
prosperity, and casting the rainbow of peace 
on every cloud of my adversity — and that 
is the light of God's love. I cannot remem- 
ber the hour when I have seen it hidden. 
O, that I had always honoured and loved 
it as became his child ! — And even now, 
when the infirmities of age are stealing 
1* 



upon me, and to the outward eye of man no- 
thing remains for me but toil and sorrow — 
even now, that love is not withdrawn. It has 
lighted up, as I may say, a torch of hope, 
which dissipates all the present clouds of 
earth, and scatters the thick darkness of 
the valley of the shadow of death. He who 
was the guide of my youth, is the strength 
of my age. He who was my sun at the 
noon of life, is my shield at its close. — 
Why should I fear for the future, when the 
past, though chequered with ill, is yet one 
continued testimony of divine faithfulness r 
Methinks, as I draw near the tomb, I am 
as much tranquilized and gladdened by my 
remembrance of the past, as by my hope 
of the future. And why should I not be ? 
For my faith in the promises is always the 
clearer and brighter, when I think of my ex- 
perience of past faithfulness ; and my hope 
is never so steadfast, as when it is supported 
upon the arm of memory. It is when I reflect 
on the joy and peace of days gone by, that 
I feel most able to trust those which " are 
coming. It is then, that 

Religion bears my spirits up^ 
And I enjoy a blessed hope.. 



I cannot remember the time when I had 
not a sense of religion, and a fear of God; 
and I have no doubt that it is owing to my 
early and habitual impressions, which be- 
came interwoven in my soul, as a part of 
its very fabric, or constitution, that I have 
enjoyed such quietness and steadfastness 
throughout a long pilgrimage. Little do pa- 
rents consider, while they are forming their 
infants' hearts and characters upon other 
principles, and teaching them to act by 
other motives, how difficult they render 
a subjection to religious motives after- 
ward, and how they subtract from the sum 
of their religious enjoyment ! Were all 
mothers like mine, how greatly would the 
obedience of the young christian's pilgrim- 
age be facilitated, and its peace ensured ! — 
I love to dwell on the memory of that hon- 
oured woman. My earliest recollection of 
her is in the act teaching me to pray, — when 
she every evening took me on her knees, 
and clasping my little hands, made me re- 
peat after her my childish petitions. Me- 
thinks I still see the beautiful expression of 
her maternal eye, and feel the kiss, full of 



affection and piety, with which she closed 
the service. At such times, she would ex- 
plain to me the purposes of prayer, and 
teach me to love the good Being, who gave 
me father and mother, and made me happy. 
It was her practice also, to seize the mo- 
ments when my young heart was overflow- 
ing with cheerfulness and good will, to re- 
mind me of the Father above, and direct 
my gratitude to him. Thus his image be- 
came associated in my thoughts, with all 
that was gladsome and delightful ; with 
every satisfaction and every enjoyment. It 
was mingled with all my remembrances of 
maternal fondness ; and the love of God 
grew upon the same branch with the love 
of my parents. I sought to please him, I 
feared to offend him, I loved to speak of 
him, and to him, in the innocent openness 
of my young heart, and to regard him, in 
all respects, as I did my parents. Thus 
there was nothing of severity, or gloom, or 
dread, in my early religious feelings. I 
knew nothing of the dislike of religion, 
which I have seen in many others. The 
judicious piety of my parents, made it a de- 



light to me and not a burden. I saw it mix- 
ing with all their thoughts and pursuits, 
most evidently the ingredient of life which 
did most to make them happy ;. never cast- 
ing a gloom over them, never arraying them 
in sternness, nor driving away innocent 
pleasures ; — and thus it found its way to 
my heart, and (blessed be He who has sup- 
ported me) has never left my heart, or ceas- 
ed to be its joy and peace. I have much 
inconsistency to be ashamed of, and many 
sins to lament ; but, thanks to my pious pa- 
rents, and the grace of God, I have never 
failed to find religion a pleasure, and never 
withdrawn from my father's God. 

O that parents would but take a hint of 
wisdom from this, and treat the young im- 
mortals committed to them, as if they were 
indeed immortal ! — /have no children. — It 
hath not pleased my Father that I shall leave 
my name behind me. I cannot, therefore, 
repay to my own offspring, the debt which 
I owe to my parents ; I can only intreat 
others to do it. And I do most earnestly 
solicit them to drive austerit) r from their reli- 
gious teachings, and to make the idea of 



10 

God not only one of the earliest, but one of 
the happiest of the infant mind. Let it be 
presented, not rarely, with ceremony, and 
on occasions of sadness and alarm — as if a 
fearful object of dread, which shuns all that 
is happy ; but let it be a familiar thought, 
beloved, because always connected with 
happiness, and to be feared only by those 
who do wrong. 

Thus passed the years of my childhood 
— happier were never known. I was made 
early familiar with the history and truths of 
revealed religion, and taught to act every 
day from a regard to them before any other 
motive. My parents were very seldom known 
to employ other motives with their children 
than those of religion. And the consequence 
was, I was always made to inquire, Is it 
right? Will it please God? Would Jesus 
approve this ? Is this doing as I would 
he done by? — till such questions formed the 
standard of my conduct, just as What will 
people think? Is this genteel? Is this for my 
interest ? are the inquiries which decide the 
men of the world. They referred me, on 
all occasions, to the life and example of the 



11 

Saviour, and taught me to contemplate with 
admiration and delight, the purity, benevo- 
lence, and piety, of that holy pattern. They 
tried to make it my ambition to imitate him ; 
and never shall I forget how 1 was sometimes 
affected by the earnest and feeling manner 
in which they told me the wonderful story 
of his love and sufferings, and urged me to 
begin young and follow him. 

Such, in general, was something of the 
system of paternal instruction to which I 
owed so much ; for it gave me a religious 
propensity, which in all the after struggles 
and sins of life, I never lost. — Truly, God's 
greatest blessings are pious and faithful 
parents ! 



CHAPTER IT. 

In the account I gave, in the former 
chapter, of my religious education, I rather 
described the method of my parents, and 
the design they had in view, than its actual 
effect on myself; — for lean, by no means, 
think that I at anv time became altogether 



12 

such as they wished to make me. But, as- 
suredly, their labour was not lost, for the 
seed which they so faithfully planted, and 
assiduously cultivated, never has died, how- 
ever feebly it may have flourished. The 
trunk has grown old, and begins to decay ; 
it will soon fail ; but there is hope that it 
" will sprout again, though the root thereof 
wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof 
die in the ground," — that it will spring up 
with new vigour and eternal beauty in the 
garden of God. 

My childhood passed like that of other 
children who have tender and watchful 
parents, and has left as few distinct traces, 
which are worth recording. The waves of 
time have flowed over the track which my 
little boat made, and I can discern its path 
no longer. 

I was in my thirteenth year when I lost 
my mother. This is one of the events which 
made a lasting impression. She had been, 
for a long time, gradually wasting away, 
and I had seen the anxious countenance and 
manner with which my father watched her. 
But a boy, even of thirteen, is not likely to 



13 

understand or realize such signs, and I re- 
member I had no foreboding of the coming 
calamity. But, at length, I observed an 
altered tone in the morning and evening 
prayer of my father, which impressed me. 
I began to suspect the truth. I observed 
more narrowly. I discovered that the form 
was wasted, the cheek had grown pale, the 
eye had sunk, and disease had made a fear- 
ful onset, while my childish eyes had been 
blinded. And I do not wonder that they 
were blinded ; for the calm and cheerful 
manner of my mother was unaltered, and 
she spoke and smiled as she always had 
done. But I now saw the truth, and every 
hour served to make me see it yet more 
plainly. My solicitude soon betrayed itself, 
and then my father summoned resolution to 
speak upon the subject to his children. The 
others were younger than myself. They 
were frolicking in all the unapprehensive 
lightness of childhood, when he called us 
around him. There were four of us. The 
youngest sprung upon his knee, and play- 
fully put her lips to his mouth ; while the rest 
of us, who perceived the emotion upon his 
2 



14 

face, gazed upon him, and gave him our 
hands without speaking. As soon as he 
could command himself — "My children," 
said he, " God has given you a good mother ; 
but he is about to take her away from you. 
You will not see her much longer. She is 
visited by a disease which is hurrying her to 
the grave, and we can do nothing but weep, 
and give her back to God. But we must 
not weep," said he, bursting into tears, " for 
she is only going home ; going to be happy, 
which she has not been here. It would be 
wrong to mourn, for she is only going to 
sleep a sweet sleep, and we shall all, by and 
bye, sleep too, and then shall all rise to- 
gether, if we have been good." 

Not many days after this, my mother 
called me to her, as I sat in the chamber, 
and, kissing my cheek — " You are old 
enough," said she, " to know what death 
means, and to learn a lesson from it. I am 
soon to die. I have known it for a long 
time, and have perfectly prepared my mind 
to meet the event. I have no longer reluc- 
tance or fear. And now, my dear son, while 
I speak to you, perhaps for the last time, 



15 

hear my parting counsel. I have tried to 
teach you your duty, and to fill your mind 
with religious principles. Do not swerve 
from those principles. They are my support 
now, they always have been my support. 
You will need them as much as I do. And 
if you would cherish them, and have them 
strong, I charge you never pass a day with- 
out prayer. — Promise me this, and I shall 
feel easy." I kissed her hand, and bowed 
my head ; for I could not speak. She put 
her hand beneath the pillow, and taking 
thence a locket, containing a braid of her 
own hair, she gave it to me. "I do not 
know," said she, " that departed spirits are 
acquainted with what happens to the friends 
they have left on earth ; but if they are, I 
shall never cease to watch your life with 
maternal solicitude. Think of this when- 
ever your eyes meet this memorial of my 
love. Reflect that, perhaps I see you, 
and remember the promise you have made 
me ; or, if not so" — she added in a voice of 
inconceivable expressiveness,— " reflect that 
God sees you, and bears witness whether 
you keep that promise or not. My dear 



m 

son, farewell ! a mother's parting blessing 
is on your head ; and do Thou, O Father, 
bless him, and make him thine!" She 
kissed me again, and sunk back exhausted* 
It seems as if I still heard her voice, and 
gazed upon her composed, but animated 
features. And it is one of the joyful antici- 
pations of my approaching removal from 
earth, that I shall again see that face, and 
be united to her pure spirit, never to part 
again. I had no spirit, after this, to leave 
her side, or to engage in any occupation. 
I was suffered to remain near her ; to see 
the gradual approach of dissolution ; and 
to witness the tranquillity and cheerfulness 
with which christian faith can await the ap- 
palling summons. She was too weak to 
say much, but sometimes gave a word of 
encouragement, admonition, or blessing, to 
those who were near her, and after she be- 
came unable to speak, she still looked un- 
utterable things, and smiled upon those 
who did her any little offices of kindness. — 
All was peace within and without ; and 
gently at last did she sink asleep in Jesus, 
without a groan or a struggle, and with an 



17 

expression on her face as if she had already 
caught a glimpse of the glory to come. 

There are some who would keep children 
from the chamber of death, and remove 
from their minds, as soon as possible, the 
impressions which sorrow may have made. 
They little consider the natural buoyancy 
of the mind, and the tendency of all feeling 
to pass away from a young heart. My fa- 
ther was one of those who thought the sol- 
emn impressions of such a season should 
be deepened, and pains taken to make them 
lasting. He thought that much might be 
done to give right views of the value and 
purposes of existence, and to get ready that 
frame of mind which is best fitted to meet 
and endure the changes of the world. By 
his conversation, therefore, and instruction, 
for a long period, he kept fresh the feelings 
to which this sad event had given birth. — 
He did not converse a great deal in the for- 
mal way; it was not his habit, and he rath- 
er avoided it, from a persuasion that it was 
not an effectual mode of addressing young 
persons. I do not think that he ever made 
«a long harangue to his children upon any 
2* 



18 

subject. His custom was to seize moments 
when their minds were cheerful and at ease, 
or when any remarkable event had excited 
their attention, and by a few concise, point- 
ed remarks, sometimes by only one single 
emphatic expression, convey the important 
lesson. He would then leave it to work 
upon their minds. And it would often hap- 
pen that the words would sink down into 
their hearts, and never be forgotten. I can 
recall many examples of forcible sayings 
thus uttered, which were of great use to me 
afterward ; but am certain that the same 
sentiment, diluted into a formal speech of 
fifteen or twenty minutes, would have made 
no impression, and been altogether lost. 

Upon the present occasion, he pursued 
his customary course. He spoke seldom ; 
but because seldom, I dwelt the more upon 
what he did say. I forgot nothing. And 
as he directed my reading, and the whole 
occupation of my time, I was, for a long sea- 
son, prevented from returning to the sports 
of my childhood, or regaining the frolick- 
some dispositions of boyhood. 



1£ 



CHAPTER III. 



The education of his children now became 
the favorite employment of my father. His 
parish was in a small and retired village, 
and his parishioners of that humble class, 
who require nothing more of their minister 
than an affectionate interest in their welfare, 
and the plainest instruction in the plainest 
truths. His duties as a minister, therefore, 
were not burdensome, and afforded him 
ample time for the superintendance of his 
children's education. He was a man of ex- 
cellent understanding, and admirable love 
of learning; and well do I remember how 
delightful he made those years of instruction, 
by orally communicating the various know- 
ledge with which his mind was full. It was 
the dear wish of his heart, that I should 
follow him in the ministerial profession ; and 
while he strove to give me settled principles 
of religion and habitual devotion, he strove 
zealously also to store my mind with every 
variety of knowledge that could adorn and 
strengthen it. He had a great abhorrence 
of an ill-educated ministry ; and kept me 



20 

from college till I was eighteen, with the 
express design of teaching me many things 
which he thought I could not learn there. 
Though at the same time, I doubt not, he 
was influenced by the wish to gratify him- 
self by so pleasant an occupation of his 
lonely and widowed time. 

As the time approached when I was to 
go to college, it became necessary to provide 
some additional means for supporting me 
there. A country minister may manage 
with his children at home pretty well, for 
they may aid him in his little farm. But it 
is not so easy to support them abroad. It 
was consequently necessary that I should 
try to earn something for myself. A school 
was found for me in a town thirty miles dis- 
tant, and I left home in November, to spend 
the winter in this new and anxious employ- 
ment. My little wardrobe and a few books 
were tied together in a handkerchief, and 
slung over my shoulder with a stick, and so 
I trudged along, as many greater men have 
done. 

This winter was an important one to me, 
as it left its traces upon my whole after life. 



21 

I was a very bashful young man, wholly 
unaccustomed to the society of men, and 
quite ignorant of the world. Great, there- 
fore, were the sufferings I endured, both in 
school, and out of school. I was anxious, 
from principle, to do my duty ; but from 
timidity and inexperience, I failed to give 
perfect satisfaction. My own anxiety ex- 
aggerated my deficiency, to my own view, 
and often did I wet my pillow with the tears 
that were wrung from my oppressed heart. 
Such trials, however, did me good, as they 
helped me in learning to face the world, 
and cast me more exclusively on my religious 
convictions for support and happiness. I 
have always found that seasons of removal 
to strange places and new duties, have been 
those in which my faith and sense of duty 
have been most rapidly improved. When all 
others were strangers around me, I went 
the more frequently to God, as a father and 
accustomed friend. 

But what I remember particularly in this 
season, was the trial I underwent in learning 
the stress that was laid upon the differences 
among Christians. My father, as I have 



22 

said before, lived in a retired village, to 
which the noise of the polemic world did 
not reach ; and whose inhabitants, happy in 
the simplicity of good and holy lives, felt no 
interest in the questions of words, on which 
the faith and charity of so many are sus- 
pended. They read their Bibles, attended 
public worship, and lived soberly, righteous- 
ly, and piously in the world. There was 
nothing among them of the pride either of 
orthodoxy or heresy. My father held, him- 
self, and was laborious to instil into his peo- 
ple, the most enlarged charity toward all. 
He was disgusted at the spirit of narrowness 
and bigotry, which he had always seen ac- 
companying a vehement zeal for particular 
forms of faith. He therefore rarely alluded, 
either in preaching or in conversation, to the 
differences among christians. He seldom 
even named the names of theological parties. 
And thus it happened that, strange as it 
may seem, I grew up almost ignorant that 
there were parties in religion, entirely un- 
acquainted with their badges of distinction, 
and with none of that prejudice for and 
against names, which is often the earliest 



23 

lesson in religion. It had not escaped me, 
in the books which fell in my way, that 
there had been divisions and strifes in the 
church ; but I saw and heard nothing of 
them in the world around me, and I felt as 
though nothing of them existed. 

On the evening of my arrival at my new 
quarters, I was greatly struck with the tone 
and language of my host and hostess in 
speaking of religion. It was different from 
any thing I had ever heard before, and it 
puzzled me. Mrs Hilson was so frequent 
in her scriptural allusions, and phrases of 
piety, as to introduce them sometimes very 
improperly and irreverently ; but in her 
husband there seemed a constantly half- 
suppressed sneer, and disposition to throw 
ridicule on the subject. Both were so dif- 
ferent from the serious, manly, intelligible, 
and reverent manner in which I had always 
seen the subject treated at home, that I was 
not a little perplexed to know what to think. 
One of the school committee, who was also 
deacon of the church, came in during the 
evening, to see the new master, and give 
his instructions. As I was too diffident to 



24 

talk much, and the deacon had but little to 
say on the business of my profession, the 
conversation took a turn but little different 
from a catechetical lecture. After many 
common-place questions, such as an inquisi- 
tive stranger naturally puts first, deacon 
Lumbard inquired what were the opinions 
of my father. I felt ashamed not to be able 
to give a direct answer, and waited for him 
to put the question in a different shape, 
" I mean," said the deacon, " is he Arminian 
or Calvinist ?" This question was hardly 
more intelligible to me than the former ; but 
thinking it would never do to say I did not 
understand him, and feeling tolerably con- 
fident that I should speak the truth, I replied, 
" I believe he is an Arminian." The deacon 
gave a hem ! of surprise, and walked across 
the room. Mrs Hilson dropped her knitting, 
and fixed upon me a look of sad concern ; 
and her husband stopped poking the fire, 
and turned round with a half merry stare, 
as if to know whether he had heard aright. 
I felt my face colour suddenly all over, and 
I thought I must have made some dreadful 
blunder. No one spoke for some time. At 



25 

length the deacon said—" An Arminian ! — 
we dont think much of Arminians here." 
The tone of his voice went to my heart, and 
the sound of it rung in my ears for weeks. 
I never had before witnessed this abhorrence 
of a name ; and such a crowd of feelings 
rose within me, that I could do nothing but 
remain silent and confused. Mr Hilson re- 
lieved me by saying, " But, deacon, there 
may be some good men amongst the Ar- 
minians." " That's more than you know, 
or I either," said the deacon. " But you 
think it's possible they may be saved, don't 
you ?" rejoined my host. " It is not promis- 
ed," replied the deacon ; " it is not in the 
covenant ; and as they do not hold the true 
faith, they are certainly in a dangerous way. 
I should not expect I could be saved myself, 
if I was one of them." " But all things are 
possible with God," said Mrs Hilson mildly. 
" True," said the deacon ; " and if any of 
his elect be in this error, he will snatch 
them from it before they die." 

The course which conversation had thus 
taken, led to the statement of all the tenets 
of Calvinism, to which I listened with 
3 



26 

amazement, sometimes mingled with hor- 
ror; for many things were so new and strange, 
so apparently contradictory, so repugnant 
to my most cherished feelings of religion, 
that I seemed to be in some region of ro- 
mance, rather than among Christians. Of 
one thing I felt certain, that if I had wrongly 
called my father an Arminian, at least he 
was not a Calvinist. But what is there so 
much an object of horror in an Arminian ; — 
why so difficult for him to be saved ? — I was 
lost in the perplexity of my own thoughts. 
Before the deacon went, he proposed to 
join the family in prayer. He first read the 
8th chapter of Romans, and then poured 
out along and earnest prayer, of great vehe- 
mence and minuteness, in which I was 
made an object of special supplication. 
The loudness and fervour of this act of wor- 
ship, so different from the calm and subdued 
tone of my father, thrilled and agitated me 
with a new feeling ; and when the deacon, 
as he went out, put his hand solemnly on 
my head, and with an affectionate emphasis, 
wished me God's blessing and success in 
my new office,.! was overpowered, and burst 



27 

into tears. I cannot pretend to explain my 
feelings. They were a chaos of confusion. 
I was young, every thing was novel, my situa- 
tion was such as to render me uncommonly 
susceptible, and religion w r as presented to 
me in a form altogether new, and with 
something inexplicably solemn in the man- 
ners of its professors. Those who have 
been ever placed in a situation in any mea- 
sure similar, will understand something of 
the feelings which kept me many hours 
awake that night ; and will easily perceive 
that I could come to no conclusion, except 
that of writing to my father as soon as pos- 
sible, to inquire what was an Arminian, and 
what he himself was. Being quieted by this 
determination, and comforted by my prayers, 
I at last fell asleep. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Under some circumstances, the feelings I 
have named would soon have passed away, 
and my mind have returned to its usual state. 
But my situation was such as to keep me 



28 

agitated and harassed in spirit for a long 
season. I however always have seen cause 
to rejoice in that trial of my faith, and to 
render thanks to my heavenly Father, who 
thus established, strengthened, and settled 
me in the true and living way. 

It was expected of the master that he 
should pray in the school, morning and 
evening. I knew it to be the custom, and 
had been greatly disturbed in the anticipa- 
tion of being called to its performance ; for, 
as I have said, my natural diffidence was 
extreme. As the time drew near, the dread 
of it weighed upon my" mind with an oppres- 
sion which I cannot describe ; and when the 
moment came, upon the first morning, my 
resolution failed me, and I commenced the 
ordinary business without a prayer. This, 
however, was no relief, for I felt that I had 
done wrong. My conscience severely re- 
proached me, and for several days I was 
made wretched by the struggle to overcome 
what I thought a sinful timidity and shrink- 
ing from religious duty, which could not fail 
to bring upon me the heavy displeasure of 
God. At length my religious sense of duty 



29 

got the victory, and on Saturday morning, 
I, for the first time in my life, addressed my 
Creator in the presence of fellow-beings. 
I was so engrossed by my own feelings in 
this affair, that it had not occurred to me 
that I might draw upon myself the displeas- 
ure of the village. It had not even suggested 
itself to me, that what was done in school 
was known abroad. I returned to my lodg- 
ings at noon, happy in the triumph I had 
gained over myself. I was hardly seated, 
when a gentleman entered, who was intro- 
duced to me as Mr Reynolds, the minister 
of the parish. He saluted me coldly, and 
after a momentary pause, began the con- 
versation by saying with some sternness, 
" Young man, I understand that you do not 
pray in your school. The duty never was 
neglected before in this town ; and if you 
are not sensible enough of its importance to 
attend to it, you are unfit for the place. — 
How can we expect a blessing on our chil- 
dren, if God be not remembered in their 
instructions ; and how can he be fit to teach, 
who will not seek wisdom from above." 
This unexpected address confounded me ; 
3* 



30 

and, after all that I had suffered in my mind, 
was more than I could sustain. I burst into 
tears, and, as well as I was able, stated the 
exact truth. Mr Reynolds was not a man to 
appreciate the diffidence which had caused 
my error, and he rebuked me for yielding 
to it. He expressed his satisfaction, how- 
ever, that I had conquered it. "■ I have 
heard of your father," said he, " though I 
do not know him personally. I am not so- 
licitous for the acquaintance of those who 
are not perfectly sound in their views ; and 
I am not surprised that the religious faith 
he has brought you up in, is too weak to 
overcome your fear of the world. Nothing 
but the genuine gospel can subdue that false 
pride of the natural heart. But I trust you 
will learn better. God has sent you here 
at a propitious season for the interests of 
your soul, and I do not doubt you will find 
it blessed to you. There is a powerful work 
of grace going on amongst us. The Holy 
Spirit is evidently in the midst, and there is 
a great rattling among the dry bones. Our 
meetings are frequent, full, and solemn. 
You must attend them, of course, as many 



3t 

as you can, and you will see such operations 
of Divine power as are wonderful to be- 
hold." 

Much more, and more earnestly, he talked 
on this topic, and at length pressed me with 
close and trying questions respecting my 
own religious opinions and experience ; and 
drew from me a minute account of negli- 
gences and failures, which he represented 
to me as glaring and dangerous defects. 
My conscience was a tender one, and easily 
joined in accusations against myself. I had a 
horror of displaying myself to greater advan- 
tage than the truth, which led me to conceal 
almost every thing in my religious character 
which he would have approved. I could 
not bring myself to speak of those secret 
exercises of my spirit, which I accounted 
sacred to the inspection of heaven. Mr 
Reynolds argued warmly, and warned me 
earnestly. His tone of expostulation was 
powerful in itself, as well as new to me. I 
felt it to my heart's core. My timid spirit 
shrunk and trembled. He left me in a state 
of amazement and anxiety, which robbed 
me of the perfect possession of my faculties 
for the remainder of the day. 



32 

In the afternoon, when, of course, I was 
unengaged, several friends of my host cal- 
led in, who were interested in the religious 
state of the village, and made it the subject 
of their conversation. They talked of the 
meetings which had been held, of the cases 
of those who had been affected, and des- 
cribed at length the situation and exercises 
of some of the converts. A wholly novel 
scene was thus unveiled to me. I saw re- 
ligion and religious feelings presented in a 
new light. And the eagerness with which 
the matter was discussed, the breathless 
curiosity and sympathy expressed in the 
eye, the flushed cheek, and the impatient 
attitudes of speakers and listeners, were 
calculated to make a deep impression upon 
a novice like myself. The comparison of 
this exhibition with what 1 had always seen, 
and reverenced, and loved as true religion, 
perplexed and distressed me. I could gain 
no peace after many hours of anxious think- 
ing, but by remembering that longer obser- 
vation would teach me what was right, and 
that it was my duty to wait patiently. I gave 
myself, therefore, to the reading of the 



33 

Scriptures, and at length laid myself down 
calmly to await the opening of the sabbath 
day. 

On this occasion, and on thousands since, 
I have derived peace from prayer, when 
every thing else conspired to vex and dis- 
tress me : — a proof of itself, that a devotion 
of spirit is the essence of true religion ; and 
that he who has this, cannot be lost to God, 
nor be a stranger to his favour, however he 
inav err in controverted truths* 



CHAPTER V. 

It is impossible for me to follow minute- 
ly my recollections of this memorable win- 
ter. They would fill a large volume, in- 
stead of the few sheets which my tremb- 
ling hand is able to write. It must suffice 
to say that the new scenes into which I was 
thrown, continued to be occasions of sever- 
est perplexity and anxiety for many weeks. 
I had been bred religiously, I had been 
scrupulously conscientious, I had thought 
myself a lover of God and man, and rejoic- 



34 

ed in the hope in heaven. But my religion 
had been noiseless and secret. I had sel- 
dom conversed respecting it, except at par- 
ticular moments with my father. I had nev- 
er been excited by crowds assembled, nor 
had I ever been conscious of any extraordi- 
nary change in my dispositions, or feelings, 
or life. I had gone on quietly from child- 
hood to youth, conscienciously, but calmly, 
and with no display of zeal. I had seen in 
my father precisely the same operation of 
religion which I had witnessed in myself, 
except that it was far more perfect. 1 had 
thought this the true christian character ; 
and though often I had sighed over my 
imperfections, yet I never had suspected 
that I was wrong in principle. 

But if what I now saw and heard were 
the genuine exhibition of religion, then I 
had been entirely and wofully deceived. If 
I must believe what was perpetually urged 
in my ears, then I was only a hypocrite, 
without Christ, and without hope. Nothing 
can exceed the distress with which this 
thought was attended. Many nights did I 
pass sleepless and weeping with uncontrol- 



35 

lable anguish of spirit. I became almost 
unfit for any duty. My thoughts pi eyed on 
my health, till my robust body wasted un- 
der the torture of the mind, and my cheek 
was pale and sunken. 

For why, thought I, should I not believe 
all that I see and hear ? I cannot deny the 
existence of the sincerest, heartiest religion 
here. Earth cannot contain a purer and 
meeker spirit than my hostess possesses ; 
and where is there more real and actuating 
piety than in deacon Lumbard, though he 
be a little narrow ; and where a nobler 
benevolence and more solemn concern for 
Christianity than in Mr Reynolds, though 
he be a little rough ? and then how general 
and deep is the religious impression that 
prevails — how serious, how anxious, how 
devout is the whole village — how indefati- 
gable in teaching and learning — what a 
sense of the evil of sin, and dread of the 
Divine displeasure — and not my own father 
could discover more anxiety for my good 
than my friends do here. 

Yet, while I thus looked with reverence 
upon the zeal and piety I witnessed, I could 



36 

not listen to the representations of gospel 
doctrine, which were perpetually made, 
without a certain horror. This, I was told, 
was an infallible sign of an unrenewed 
heart ; and this served to aggravate my 
distress. I never had studied controversy, 
nor heard it preached ; but my father had 
always implied something very different 
from what I now heard, and I could not 
reconcile the representations I now met, 
with the impressions I had received from 
the Bible. My blood chilled when I heard 
the arbitrary decree of election announced, 
and, connected with it, the joy of the right- 
teous in the sufferings of the wicked. I 
was most distressingly bewildered in the 
contradictions about depravity and account- 
ability, irresistible grace, involuntary faith, 
and changes rung, without end, on jus- 
tification, adoption, sanctification, and 
imputation. It was a wilderness to me. I 
turned on every side and could find no re- 
lief. If I had only seen these things in 
books I should have passed them by as 
wild speculations. But I found them rilling 
the minds and thoughts of men, whose re- 



37 

ligious zeal was more imposing to my mind 
than any thing I had ever met with ; men 
whom I honoured and loved, who treated 
me with assiduous kindness, and who assur- 
ed me, with the earnestness of the most sol- 
emn asseveration, that they built all their 
religion and all their hope on these doc- 
trines, and that they could conceive of no 
salvation on any other ground. Thus be- 
set, what could I do ? Who would wonder 
if I had yielded ? 

I at length told those who had interested 
themselves most warmly in my behalf, that 
there was but one course for me to take, 
namely, to examine the scriptures anew with 
fresh care, and abide by the result. To this 
proposal they warmly assented, not doubting 
that the Holy Ghost would teach me ; and 
they left me with solemn prayer to pursue 
this design. 

I look back to the doing of this work 
with highest gratitude and satisfaction. 
Every leisure minute found me at my Bible, 
and the morning often broke while I was 
yet studying. Earnest were my prayers 
for light, and sincere my wish to be in- 
4 



38 

structed ; and He who heareth prayer heard 
me, enlightened me, and gave me a happy 
confidence in the result of my labour. My 
opinions became fixed and grounded on 
the sure testimony of God ; and I no longer 
felt embarrassment at the very opposite 
representations of gospel truth which were 
prevailing around me. They could still 
sometimes blind my eyes for a moment 
with the dust of metaphysical subtlety ; but 
the breath of the Divine word soon blew it 
away, and I saw clearly. 

I now became tranquil and happy. My 
cheerfulness of spirit returned, and with it 
health. My anxieties ended in a serene and 
settled peace, no more to be disturbed by 
the tumult round about me. I came out 
of the trial in every respect the better for 
having passed through it. My opinions 
were more clearly defined and more solidly 
grounded. My devout feelings were be- 
come deeper and more ardent. While at 
the same time, my intimacy with the senti- 
ments and characters of those who differed 
from me gave me a juster view of them, and 
a more real regard for them, than under 



39 

any other circumstances I could have attain- 
ed. This has been of incalculable benefit 
to me through life. I have been preserved 
by it from a great deal of false and censo- 
rious judging, and enabled to discriminate 
between the merits and weaknesses of my 
more orthodox brethren, so as to maintain 
for them a sincere respect and unchanging 
charity. And I have always found that 
those are least bigoted, who are best ac- 
quainted with those whom they oppose. 
Nothing destroys uncharitableness and cen- 
soriousness so certainly, as an intimacy with 
the habitual feelings and characters of men 
of other sects. Bigotry is the offspring of 
ignorance. 

Such was the end, and such, in few words, 
have been the consequences of the scenes I 
have described. But my trials were not yet 
over. My own mind was satisfied, but others 
were dissatisfied ; and I was doomed to en- 
dure coldness, reproach, suspicion, and a- 
lienation from many who had been forward 
to instruct me, and who had professed the 
warmest friendship. I was made the subject 
of village gossip and scandal ; a thousand 



40 

false and calumnious reports were spread 
abroad ; and I became little better than a 
heathen and a publican to the zealots, who, 
a few weeks before, seemed ready to sacri- 
fice even their lives for me. But of these 
things I must speak in another chapter. 



CHAPTER Vf. 

The trials to which I alluded in my last 
chapter, as coming upon me in consequence 
of my decision in regard to religion, were 
of several sorts. I can name them but in 
few words. I had supposed that all who 
professed a friendship for me, and had so 
zealously interested themselves in my be- 
half, would rejoice with me in the relief of 
mind I had gained, even though they might 
have wished that my conclusions had been 
nearer their own. But in this I was disap- 
pointed. From the moment it became known 
in what manner my concern of mind had 
terminated, and that I was not to be brought 
out as a convert after their fashion ; there 
was a manifest change in the manners of 



41 

many toward me. Instead of cordiality I 
found coldness, instead of a welcome I met 
a repulse. And I soon found that all their 
zeal for my soul's welfare, was little more 
at bottom than a desire to have the eclat of 
the schoolmaster's conversion ; that there 
was a grievous disappointment, not at the 
danger in which my soul was placed, but in 
this frustration of a party object. I had too 
much proof of this to fear that I charge them 
wrongfully. 

But this was not the case with all. Some 
were truly and benevolently afflicted for my 
own sake. Amongst these was my excel- 
lent hostess, Mrs Hilson. I had all along 
held the most free communication with her ; 
she knew the whole state of my mind, and 
had acted toward me the part of a mother. 
She was too gentle and meek to be bigoted ; 
but as all her own rich treasures of religious 
comfort and hope were built on the doc- 
trines she had been taught, and they were 
dearly associated with every pious and be- 
nevolent sentiment of her soul, she very 
naturally could conceive of no real religious 
happiness from any different source. When 
4* 



42 

she found that I could not draw from this> 
she was troubled ; for she thought there 
was none other. She did not question my 
sincerity, but lamented my blindness in not 
seizing what, from her own experience, she 
knew to be the only secret of happiness. 
Wiser persons than she have made the 
same mistake of trying all others by their 
own experience ; while in fact men's expe- 
riences differ as much as their faces. 

I never shall forget the kind and tender 
interest she expressed toward me to the last 
of my residence in the village. She was in 
all my solicitudes a faithful friend. To her 
I could unbosom myself without restraint, 
and find relief from her sympathy. Our 
hearts could feel and pray together, however 
we might vary in our creeds. And to the 
last of her life, while her friends and my 
friends were zealously accusing each other 
of corrupting the whole gospel, she ceased 
not to feel, that there might be Chris- 
tians who were not Calvinists ; and I, for 
her sake, have always been able to see the 
spirit of the gospel reigning even among 
those whose speculations were most hostile 



43 

to its trdths. Indeed, who that has ever 
formed an intimate acquaintance beyond 
the narrow pale of his own sect, does not 
feel the wicked meanness of that bigotry 
which confines piety and salvation to those 
who agree with himself? 

" I still hope," said Mrs Hilson, the eve- 
ning before I returned to my father's house 
— " I still hope and trust, that you will see 
reason to think differently." " I pray that 
I may," said I, " if I am wrong ; I have no 
wish but to learn and follow the truth ; and 
I say sincerely, that I think I could in a 
moment embrace any opinion which could 
be proved to be of divine authority. You 
have yourself seen how anxious I have felt, 
and how diligently I have sought." " Cer- 
tainly, certainly," she replied ; " you have 
done your duty well, and I think God will 
not leave so sincere a soul in darkness. It 
is this that makes me sure you will, by and 
bye, be brought right. We must wait His 
good time." 

" But why," said Mr Hilson, who was a 
blunt, good-natured man, "why, Betsey, 
should you wish master Anderson to change ? 



44 

I am sure there is not a cleverer, honester 
man, nor better master to be found. And 
as for his religion, he 's as serious and 
prayerful, and studies his Bible as hard as 
any of them, though to be sure, he is not for 
making such a noise about it. Now to my 
mind, this is the right way ; and I am sure, 
that if any body could make me a Christian, 
it would be just this Mr Anderson. And 
his quiet sort of religion, now, would do 
more to work upon the minds of one half 
the people here, than all the stir that 's been 
made this winter. Why, there 's a great 
many been driven away from all kinds of 
religion by the confusion we 've had about 
it. I believe I should have been myself, if 
it had not been for the master. And 
there 's many a one that will never get over 
his disgust, but is made, I warrant it, pro- 
fane for life." 

" You astonish me," said I, for this was 
entirely new to me ; " it is not conceivable 
that men should be so unreasonable. What, 
fly off to irreligion, because their neighbours 
are so engaged in religion ? They must be 
very ill-disposed persons." 



45 

" No ;" replied he, " not so ill-disposed 
neither ; some very consciencious men have 
been affected in this way ; and if I was to 
speak my mind, I should say that this stir 
has cooled as many friends to religion as it 
has made." 

" Husband, husband," cried Mrs Hilson, 
" how can you say so ? I am truly ashamed 
of you." 

" Look here, my dear," said he, " who is 
likely to know most of it : you, who see 
only one side — or I, who see both sides ? 
Now I know all that 's going on, and all 
that 's said, everywhere in the village ; while 
you only know what passes at meeting and 
among go-to-meeting folks ; and I can tell 
you beyond all doubt that the devil has 
gained some disciples as well as Christ 
I '11 tell you a few things. I 've heard more 
swearing, and seen more drinking and ill- 
temper amongst the men, because of this 
thing, than I ever knew in the village before 
in my life ; and from some very reputable 
folks too. There 's the Joneses and the 
Malcolms have not been calm this two 
months ; and there ? s no doubt their wives 



46 

would do more for religion by staying at 
home and making their houses happy with 
it, than by running away and causing their 
husbands and children to hate it. — Then, 
besides those that are hurt in this way, you 
know there are some of the converts that are 
said to be none the better since their zeal 
has cooled. You know how ** and *** and 
**** turned out, and there are more too." 

" You ought not to triumph over this," 
said I. 

" And I do not," said he ; " but there are 
them that do, and it has afforded more joy 
and jests to infidels and blasphemers than 
I can tell you of. Now does not this do 
harm to real religion ? And would not it 
all have been prevented by permitting mat- 
ters to go on quietly and soberly as in times 
past ? For, take five years together, there 
would have been as many Christians made 
in the usual way, as by all this extraordinary 
movement ; while at the same time none of 
this extraordinary evil would have been done. 
This is not all. It is incredible what sin 
has been committed in the way of slander 
and lying, and that by very pious people 



47 

too. I '11 tell you what reports have been 
spread about you, master Anderson, just by 
way of specimen. First, it got about that 
you were under deep concern of mind, and 
had written home to your father, who told 
you not to be troubled, for the people were 
mad, and religion would spoil you for a 
schoolmaster. That you became afterward 
more earnest, and when you could get no 
comfort from your father's principles, he 
sent you to Mr Reynolds, and you found 
peace. That then your father, too, became 
anxious, and came to see Mr Reynolds, and 
confessed to him that he had never felt re- 
ligion, and was more than half an infidel ; 
and that he was converted and went home, 
and got up a revival in his own parish. All 
this and much more was made up out of 
the whole cloth, and circulated as so much 
gospel by those who knew it was all false. 
And when it was discovered that your mind 
was settled another way, then it was said, 
and is believed to this day, that you have 
got another Bible, different from ours ; and 
that a good part of the time you pretended 
to be studying the Scriptures, you were^pky- 



48 

ing cards in your room with R and 

E . For a whole day it was believed that 

you had told the children it was all nonsense 
to pray in the school, and you should do it 
no longer. I could tell you a great deal more 
of the same sort, and so you must not won- 
der that some folks think there is no religion 
in what bears so much bad fruit." 

Mrs Hilson appeared as much discon- 
certed at this disclosure, as I was amazed. 
She said, however, that it was fair to look 
on both sides, and count the wheat in the 
field, as well as the tares. " True," said 
her husband ; but will every body do that ? 
Most persons will not do it ; and conse- 
quently, most persons will be injured," 

" But you and I must do it," said I. 
" Religion is a solemn reality, whatever 
imperfections there may be in its friends ; 
and surely you will not on account of those 
imperfections refuse to strive for your own 
salvation." 

Mr Hilson has since told me, that this 
sentiment struck him more forcibly than any 
preaching he had ever heard. I am happy 
to add, that he became one of the most en- 



49 

lightened and sincere Christians I have ever 
known. 

I parted from my friends the next morn- 
ing, amidst the most affectionate wishes. 
Deacon Lumbard came to give me his part- 
ing blessing, and to say that he did not doubt 
he should yet see me all he could wish, for 
he loved me too well to think otherwise. 
As I passed the minister's door, I stopped to 
bid him farewell. He shook me by the hand, 
saying he loved me none the less for my 
honesty, and doubted not God had a blessing 
for me. The kindness of these two good 
men was a cordial to my spirits. I left them 
better and happier for having known them ; 
rejoicing that there was a better world, 
where imperfection would be done away, 
and where the holy light of unveiled truth 
would dissipate the little cloud that now 
hovered between us. 



50 



CHAPTER VII. 



My college life, on which I now entered, 
was like that of many other young men. I 
applied myself zealously to the duties re- 
quired of me, and became ambitious of dis- 
tinction. My thirst for knowledge increased, 
and w T ith it my desire of eminence. I allowed 
myself little time for sleep or recreation. 
I denied myself even food, that I might sit 
at my books without the necessity of exer- 
cise to help digestion. I know not how it 
was, but gradually and insidiously literary 
distinction became my ruling passion. My 
Bible w T as consulted less frequently, my 
seasons of devotion were hurried over, and 
even the worship of the sabbath came at last 
to be attended by me with little interest or 
feeling. 

I was sometimes uneasy at perceiving the 
change which had taken place in my affec- 
tions, and felt alarmed for the result. But I 
satisfied myself with saying, that as soon as I 
should be relieved from my present hurry, or 
have finished the study I had now on hand, I 



51 

should have leisure to resume my religious 
vigilance. But this leisure did not come, and 
I suffered myself still to go on. I quieted 
the remonstrances of my mind with the 
persuasion, that a man can not feel equally 
engaged at all times on any subject ; and 
that at any rate I was preparing myself for 
the duties of life, and why was not this as 
acceptable service as the performance of my 
religious duties ? Then if conscience ans- 
wered, that the preparation for future duty 
is no excuse for neglecting present duty, I 
stifled the suggestion by burying my thoughts 
in study. 

I tremble to this day to think of the hazard 
I was running, and in how dreadful a ruin it 
might have ended, if it had not pleased God 
to send me a rebuke. I had already entered 
my senior year, and with a heart full of 
ambition was pressing on to realize, in the 
honours before me, the darling object of my 
hope. I had overplied my powers, and they 
gave way. My body refused to sustain the 
labours of my mind, and after four weeks' 
severe illness it was thought I must sink to 
the tomb. 



52 

Of the early part of my sickness I have 
no recollection, except of a confused feeling 
of disappointment and vexation at being 
thus stopped and frustrated in my career. 
It seems to me like some long dream, in 
which I was struggling with envious and 
malicious foes, who were conspiring against 
my improvement and reputation. I seemed 
at length to awake from the dream, and 
found myself a feeble and helpless man, 
stretched upon my bed, and attended by 
friends whose anxious countenances reveal- 
ed to me their fears. 

" What is that bell for ?" was the first 
question I asked. 

" It is tolling for the Exhibition," said 
my friend. 

" The Exhibition f" said I, starting with 
surprise ; " how long have I been sick ?" 

" Nearly four weeks." 

" Exhibition !" I repeated—" and I am 
not ready ; I cannot be there ; — when I had 
so depended on it — so longed for it — and 

here am I shut out from When shall I 

be able to go out, Thompson ?" 

" You must lie still," said Thompson* 



53 

u you are too weak to talk ; keep yourself 
quiet." And he withdrew from the bed. 

Thompson's voice and manner struck me, 
and I at once suspected the truth. Never 
shall I forget the feeling that came over me, 
as the conviction flashed across my mind 
that I was dangerously ill. A cold thrill 
run through my frame, and the sweat issued 
upon my forehead. " And is this," thought 
I, " the end of all my toils, the completion 
of my hopes ? Is it all to end in an early 
grave and a forgotten memory ? Spare me, 

God, that I may recover strength before 

1 go hence to be seen no more." 

As soon as my first surprise was over, I 
set myself to collect my thoughts as well as 
I was able, and to prepare my mind for the 
event. And now the wide extent of my folly 
became visible at once. I saw the full measure 
of my negligence, and the whole lraworthi- 
ness of my delusion. I felt the emptiness of 
that ambition, for which I had sacrificed my 
religious affections, and would have given 
the world to return to that spiritual frame 
which I had possessed two years before. 
Then I thought of my privileges, my oppor- 
" -5* 



54 

tunities, the discipline I had passed through* 
the early instructions of my mother, the 
faithful counsels of my father ; — and as 1 
thought of him, I involuntarily spoke out, 
" Has my father been sent for, Thompson?" 

Thompson looked at me with surprise, 
and after a few moments' hesitation ans- 
wered, yes, and that he was expected to 
arriv e to-morrow. 

To-morrow came, and at the expected 
hour my father entered the chamber. He 
had evidently come from a hurried journey* 
and wore a countenance of anxiety and 
grief. I held out my hand, and he took it 
without speaking. We both were thinking 
of a separation, and for some moments 
could not trust ourselves with our voices. 
At length I broke silence, for I had been 
fortifying myself for the interview, and had 
my powers under my control. 

" My father," said I, " I rejoice to see you. 
I know why you are come, and shall feel 
the easier for your presence. You led me 
in the beginning of life, and if my life must 
close, it is a consolation to lean on you at 
the last." 



55 

" The will of God be done," said he. " I 
had hoped it would be otherwise ordered, 
but the will of God be done. I am glad to 
find you look upon it so calmly. Your re- 
ligion supports you, as I thought it would." 

" I trust in God's mercy," said I ; " I need 
it. O, my father, you do not know how 
foolish I have been, and how nearly I have 
lost myself in the love of worldly honours." 
And I told him the state of my mind for 
some time previous. " But," I continued, 
" I have humbled myself before God, and 
cast myself on his compassion. I have 
thrown away my false ambition, and renew- 
ed my vows and prayers, and I hope I have 
found pardon and peace. I have given up 
every thing to my Maker, and trust I may 
depart in hope. Father, give me your 
blessing." 

He knelt down by my bed and prayed. 
My soul was thrilled by the sound of that 
voice, so familiar and so loved, and a thou- 
sand tender recollections crowded upon my 
mind. I was refreshed and strengthened 
as I listened, and lifted nearer to heaven. 

A long silence continued after he had 



56 

tended, while we both pursued our own re- 
flections. A length I untied from my neck 
the locket containing my mother's hair, and 
handed it to my father. " I wish to leave 
this," said I, " to my sister Jane, with the 
same injunction with which my dear mother 
gave it to me. Tell her that it has been a 
talisman to me in many a difficulty and 
temptation ; and that if I had never suffered 
myself to be unmindful to it, I should have 
been spared the only pain I feel at this time. 
Bid her, therefore, wear it in memory of 
her deceased brother and mother, and as a 
pledge that she will never pass a day with- 
out prayer ; remembering, that if we cannot 
see how she fulfils the pledge, God does ; 
and the day is coming when we shall know 
also." 

I was too feeble to pursue the conversa- 
tion, and soon became faint. I thought 
myself dying. After I revived, I could \ 
catch from the occasional whispers in the 
room, that it was thought I could not live 
through another night. I had nothing fur- 
ther which I wished to say, and I laid 
quietly, in the perfect possession of my 



57 

powers, waiting the signal to depart. O, 
the indescribable sublimity of that hour! 
Words cannot picture the solemnity of 
feeling which pervaded my mind, as my 
thoughts flew, in the pressure and excite- 
ment of the season, with the rapidity of 
lightning, to the past and to the future, — 
to my own life, — to the truths of Christiani- 
ty, — to the perfections of God, — to the 
promises of Christ, — to the prospects of 
heaven ; and the whole was framed, with an 
intense energy of which I can now hardly 
conceive, into a perpetual mental prayer. 
Thus I was occupied until sleep overcame 
me, and I was lost in forge tfulness. 

It was ordained that we should be de- 
ceived. He who had brought me low, in- 
tended but to chasten and heal me ; and 
when I had learned all that a death-bed 
could teach, he again breathed health into 
my frame, and bade me live to praise him. 



53 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Seek first the kingdom of God, and the 
righteousness thereof, and all these things 
shall be added unto you. 

These words were perpetually present to 
my mind, during my recovery from the ill- 
ness I have mentioned, and gave rise to 
much salutary reflection which helped to es- 
tablish my resolution for the future. I felt 
how easily the one thing needful slips away 
from those who cease to seek it, and how 
liable even a religious man is to lose the 
substance of happiness in pursuing the 
shadow. I persuaded myself that if the 
prime object of duty were secured, a man 
could never feel any thing actually wanting 
to his well-being ; for it is very evident that 
the pursuit of the highest duty and most 
permanent good, is consistent with the pur- 
suit and enjoyment of every other object 
really desirable. 

I experienced the truth of this at once, 
in returning to the studies of my class. My 
great struggle had been to subdue my in- 



59 

ordinate ambition. It had interfered with 
ray religion, and must be sacrificed. It was 
a dear sacrifice, but I took my resolution, 
and it was performed. The consequence, 
I supposed would be, that I should fall from 
my standing as a scholar, and graduate with 
less reputation than I had coveted. This 
was a mortifying anticipation ; but better 
risk my scholarship than my religion, thought 
I, and I summoned firmness to brave the 
result. This result was quite other than I 
expected. In proportion as I became in- 
different to my reputation, for mere reputa- 
tion's sake, I found myself able to study and 
recite with greater ease and self-possession, 
Formerly my extreme anxiety to do well, 
and my morbid dread of doing ill, had oc- 
casioned an irritability and hurry of spirits, 
which often threw me off my self-command, 
and produced the very evils I sought to avoid. 
But now, having little desire except to do 
my duty, I was cool, collected, and preserved 
the full command of my powers. So that, 
to my surprise, I acquitted myself better 
than formerly, and rose in my class, rather 
than fell. A certain portion of every day 



60 

was sacredly devoted to religious exercises 
and studies ; and the time thus subtracted 
from classical pursuits, was more than com- 
pensated by the steadiness of mind and 
equanimity of feeling which it produced. 

Here then was the first reward of my re- 
newed fidelity. I was permitted to experience, 
then, as I have always done since, that our 
religion has the promise of the life which 
now is, as w T ell as of that which is to come. 
How many deceive themselves and are 
miserable from not knowing this ! They sell 
themselves to the world, and take the world's 
wages ; which at the moment of death they 
are compelled to resign, and then have 
nothing which they can carry hence. Where- 
as, in the service of God, they might have no 
less enjoyed what earth affords, besides all 
the present and future satisfactions of the 
soul,>which are far richer and purer. There 
is no state of the mind so happy in itself, 
and at the same time so fitted for success in 
the duties of the world, and for contentment 
amid its difficulties, as the tranquil and 
composed frame of habitual devotion. 

From this time my resolution was taken 



61 

to devote myself to the ministry. There 
had always been a prevailing desire in my 
mind to engage in this office ; but some- 
times my distrust of myself, and sometimes 
my occupation in other studies, had prevent- 
ed me from making an absolute decision. 
But my late experience had so wrought 
upon me, that I could think of no other oc- 
cupation consistent with duty. I suspected 
it to be my father's wish, though he had 
never intimated it to me. When I named 
to him my determination, he expressed his 
hearty approbation. " This," said he, " is 
what I have looked forward to with earnest 
hope. It has been from your childhood my 
constant wish and prayer that I might see 
you join with me in the great work of the 
gospel. I rejoice that the day has come, and 
that without one doubt or fear, I may en- 
courage you to go on, and bid you God speed. 
Your faith and perseverance have already 
been tested. You know what trial is, and 
will be able, from the wisdom of personal 
experience, to help others who are tried. 
Enter the work and prosper. You will still 
meet with trials, severe and heavy ; but He, 
6 



62 

in whose strength you have hitherto been 
safe, will always provide a way of escape if 
you but seek it." 

I would that I had room to record all the 
instruction which he imparted on this and on 
other occasions, with the affectionate piety 
of a christian minister, and the overflowing 
tenderness of a parent. I would that I had 
been more sensible, at the time, of their 
value, and how much it was enhanced by the 
fact, that I was not long to enjoy his in- 
tercourse. But for two precious years I did 
enjoy it. I was employed as teacher of the 
school in my native village, and lived and 
studied in the house of my birth. I was 
my parent's companion at home, and in his 
visits abroad. I read with him the most 
important books, in my preparatory studies, 
and we conversed familiarly on all topics of 
theology and morals. Happy and profitable 
were those days ! when I was permitted to 
cheer the declining path of him who gave me 
birth, at the same time that I was drawing 
from him treasures of ministerial experience 
to guide me after he should be departed ! 



63 



CHAPTER IX. 



The entrance on the ministry is a period 
of anxiety and excitement of spirit which 
no one can look back upon, even after the 
lapse of years, without a throb of emotion. 
To a conscientious man, who feels the weight 
and responsibility of the office, the exercises 
of that season are deep and trying. About 
to appear as the messenger of God's word 
to the souls of men, — to be the herald of 
eternal truths, — to be a fellow labourer with 
Christ in the work of human salvation, and 
the bearer of the prayers and the interces- 
sions of men to the mercy seat of heaven ; his 
spirit is oppressed, and trembling, and ready 
to faint — for how can he discharge so various 
and awful vocations ? But then, again, when 
he considers the incalculable importance of 
the work to which none other on earth is 
to be equalled ; when he thinks of the hon- 
our of bearing part in it, the shame of draw- 
ing back, and the wide field for doing good 
— his spirits become animated, and he girds 
himself for the toil with alacrity and zeal, 



64 

It seems as it were but yesterday that I was 
passing through this alternation of hopes 
and fears, of exhilaration and despondency. 
I still see the chamber which I paced for 
hours, anxious and sleepless, night after 
night : and where I gradually gained reso- 
lution to begin the sacred work. Forty- 
seven years are past and gone, but it is fresh 
as the memory of to-day. I have passed 
through, in those years, heavy vicissitudes 
of earthly lot, and waves of trouble have rol- 
led over my heart, enough to obliterate from 
it every trace of that early anxiety. But it 
abides vividly in my memory, and the old 
man of seventy-two feels over again as he 
writes, all the solicitudes of the youth of 
twenty-five. 

It was on the third of September, that af- 
ter a ride of twenty miles, I reached the 
village where my father had recommended 
me to make the first trial of my gifts. I 
bore a letter from him in my pocket to Mr 
Carverdale, the infirm minister of the place, 
offering my service to ajd* him on the Sab- 
bath. The sub was just throwing its last 
beams upon the spire of the meeting-house? 



65 

as I came upon the little common where it 
stood, and cast my eyes around in search of 
the minister's house. This is easily known 
in a country village, and I immediately rode 
up to a neat cottage, with a small yard be- 
fore it, which stood just back of the meeting- 
house, and was almost lost amid the trees 
which threw their aged branches around 
and over it. The old gentleman was sit- 
ting in his arm chair at the open door look- 
ing out upon the setting sun. I alighted, 
and approached him with the letter in my 
hand. While he was engaged in reading 
it I had leisure to collect myself, and study 
the appearance of a man whom I had not 
seen since I was a child, and to whom I 
was an entire stranger. He was a tall, thin 
man, whose few remaining hairs were white 
with the hoary frost of age, and his counte- 
nance marked with years and suffering. 
But there was a majesty and serenity in it 
which struck me with awe, and would have 
become an apostle. I think St John might 
have looked so, when he was carried into 
the church, as he approached his hundredth 
year, to repeat his customary benediction^ 
Little children, love one another. 
6* 



66 

u You are heartily welcome," said he, 
when he had finished the perusal of the 
letter ; " and I thank your father for his 
kindness in sending you. But he was al- 
ways kind, and I can present no better 
prayer for his son than that he may be like 
him. I was doubting if I should be able to 
speak to my poor people to-morrow. I am 
unusually feeble, I have sensibly decayed 
this week. I might not be able to address 
them. But now they will be instructed 
from younger lips. It will be enough for 
me to break to them the holy bread. I am 
glad to have all my strength for that. Who 
knows but it may be the last time ?" 

I felt called upon to say something, and 
with the real diffidence I felt, I said that I 
was very sorry he would not have a better 
substitute to-morrow. 

" Young man" said he, "let me warn you 
against a trick of disparaging yourself in 
this way. It does not become the simplici- 
ty and sincerity of the ministerial character. 
You are in your master's service, and should 
use such language to none but him. It may 
be modesty now, but it will become vanity ; 



67 

vanity in its most disgusting dress, the 
guise of humility. Think of nothing but 
to do your duty. Do that as well as you 
are able, and be not anxious to say or to 
hear in what manner it is done." 

This advice did me great good. It taught 
me to guard against that sensitiveness to 
the opinion of others, which is so apt to dis- 
order the motives of action ; and has saved 
me perhaps from that painful and ridicu- 
lous habit, which I have witnessed in some, 
of always speaking slightingly of what they 
do for the sake of hearing it praised. It be- 
comes the dignity of a preacher of the gos- 
pel not to speak of his labours at all, ex- 
cept to some confidential friend and for the 
sake of improvement. 

" I do not mean to pain you," continued 
he, " for I have no reason to doubt your 
sincerity ; but I use an old man's privi- 
lege of plain speaking to put you on your 
guard. My light is almost out and I must 
do good while I can. I am as low in my 
horizon as yonder sun now is. But while I 
am here, I would give light to the last. It 
has always been my prayer, that I might 



68 

sink to my bed as that glorious luminary 
does now, useful to the latest moment, and 
unshadowed by a cloud. God save me 
from the empty, shattered remnant of ex- 
istence, which would be a weariness to my- 
self and a burden to others. Yet I fear 
that the prayer will not be granted, and it 
will try my patience and faith to have it de- 
nied. But His will be done ! You," 
continued he, " are like that sun in his ris- 
ing, rejoicing in the prospect before you of 
a day of light and glory, of a work of be- 
neficence and love, in which you shall cause 
righteousness and piety to bud and become 
fruitful. It is an excellent and most bles- 
sed work ! Enter it and prosper ! May God 
be your light, and honor you abundantly in 
the kingdom of his dear Son." 

He rose from his seat, and leaning upon 
me entered the room where his family was 
sitting. " We always pray at sunsetting," 
said he. The ancient family Bible was 
brought forward, from which a chapter was 
read, upon which he made a few remarks, 
and then uttered a fervent prayer. It seem- 
ed to come from a patriarch's lips, and to 
be instinct with the devotion of that future 
world on whose borders he stood. 



69 

We retired early to rest, and arose with 
the sun, on the morning of the Sabbath. 
The trembling voice of the aged ser- 
vant of Christ mingled with the early stir- 
rings of the morning breeze, and welcom- 
ed, in the animated accents of praise, the 
blessed recollections of holy time. His 
whole air was serene, tranquil and thought- 
ful. He seated himself again by the door 
of his cottage, and remained there, musing 
and conversing at intervals, until we were 
summoned to the public service. 

My attention had been so much diverted 
from myself, and my mind so interested in 
the conversation and character of this good 
old man, that I passed through the trial of 
my opening ministry with far happier feel- 
ings than I had anticipated. When the 
exercise was concluded, he arose in his 
place, and reminded the church that the 
emblems of their Master's love awaited 
them. " Would to God," said he, in his 
feeble, tremulous voice, while he turned his 
eyes around upon the congregation ; " would 
to God, that ye were all disposed and ready 
to partake of them. My infirmities warn 



70 

me that this is the last time they will be 
dispensed by my hand. Ah, why are ye 
not all waiting to receive them ■? For more 
than half a century have I broken this bread 
here ; I then entreated and urged you all 
to come and partake. I have warned, and 
admonished, and pleaded with you, even 
unto tears. And yet, how many of you suf- 
fer me to leave you, and carry up with me, 
when 1 go hence, the sad story that you 
have no mark of gratitude for a Saviour's 
love, no obedience for a Saviour's dying 
command. You are willing to oppress my 
last hours with the bitter thought, that for 
many of you I have laboured in vain, and 
though I have loved you here, I may hard- 
ly hope to join you again in the eternal 
communion with the saints. Dear friends, 
let it not be thus. I stand here to bid you 
farewell. Who of you is willing it should 
be eternal ? Who of you would part, 
never to meet again ? I hope and pray for 
better things. I trill hope that, although 
we have not set down together here, we 
shall be permitted to do it hereafter. And 
let me ask of you for this once at least, this 






71 

last opportunity, not to leave me : but re- 
main, one and all, and witness, though you 
do not participate. Who can tell how it 
may please God to manifest himself to you? 
Who can tell, while we all join our prayers 
and devotions for the last time, what influ- 
ence may descend to bless us ? Who can 
tell but our remaining together now, may 
be the omen that we shall be prepared to 
meet in a higher state ?»" 

The effect of this unexpected address, 
delivered with quivering lips, and the pierc- 
ing accents of deep and earnest feeling, was 
irresistible. Not one of the congregation 
left his place. The minister descended to 
the table, and an affecting service ensued, 
whose deep and touching solemnity I have 
never seen surpassed. Many there were, 
who, like myself, received impressions that 
never passed away. And many, I doubt 
not, will be found at the Supper of the 
Lamb in heaven, who, but for that hour's 
holy and overwhelming feeling, had never 
sat at his table on earth. 



72 



CHAPTER X. 

It will not be thought surprising that by 
the scene which I described in the last 
chapter, Mr Carverdale was entirely ex- 
hausted. While the excitement of the oc- 
casion lasted, he looked and spoke with 
almost the animation of youth. But, when 
it was over, he sunk down weak, trembling, 
and nearly fainting. The old cords had 
been stretched more than they could bear, 
and lost their tone for ever. When the 
people had dispersed, he attempted to rise 
from his seat and follow them, but was un- 
able. Several of his friends advanced to 
his assistance. " The light is almost burned 
down," said he, in a voice scarcely audible ; 
" might it only go out here at the altar, how 
privileged I should be." Some one ex- 
pressed ahope that it might be yet continued 
for a season to the benefit of his church. 
He shook his head. "No," said he ; " and 
why should I wish it ? It is only a flicker- 
ing, fitful flame. It may brighten a moment 
to-day, but will be dim again to-morrow, 



73 

and cheer no one. No ; my poor flock need 
a vigorous flame, — a burning, and shining 
light. I am wasted. And if it please my 
God soon to remove me to a place among 
the stars of the firmament, why should I 
lament, or why should you ? For I have 
that hope ; I thank God, I have that hope." 

This he said with frequent interruptions, 
showing that his spirit was stirring, though 
his body was weak. He seemed unable to 
say more, and was carried in the arms of his 
friends to his house, and placed in bed. He 
fell into a sort of sleep, which the physician 
declared to be the prelude of death, and 
which he said it would be useless and cruel 
to disturb by attempting to prolong life. 
" The machine," said he, " is worn out, and 
will gradually come to a stop." 

He remained in this state, apparently un- 
conscious of what was passing around him, 
until I was summoned to the afternoon ser- 
vice. In the same state I found him on my 
return. In the mean time, the report had 
obtained currency among his parishioners, 
that their minister was dying. With af- 
fectionate concern they crowded around his 
7 



74 

dwelling, and manifested the strongest sense 
of his worth, and liveliest gratitude for his 
past services. . Never have I known eulogy 
more eloquent than that which I read in 
their tearful eyes, and whispering voices, 
as they stood silently waiting, or anxiously 
conversing, before the door, and beneath 
the windows. Their sound was distinctly 
heard in the chamber, as I stood with his 
friends beside his bed. It at length seemed 
to arouse him, and he opened his eyes. 
" What is this ?" said he. 

" The people have come from meeting," 
it was replied, " and are anxious to know 
how you do." 

" They are kind souls," replied the old 
minister ; and, turning his eyes around as if 
looking for some one, he called me by name. 
I bent over him, and he took my hand. 
" Go to them, my young friend ; tell them 
I thank them for all their fidelity and kind- 
ness. Carry them my last farewell. Bid 
them remember my last instructions ; and 
God bless them." 

I went to the door, and beckoning to the 
several groups, collected them together, and 



75 

spoke to them as I was desired. When I 
returned to the chamber, the good old man 
was taking leave of his friends, and to each 
of them giving his blessing. He called for 
me. He was exhausted, and could no more 
speak audibly. His lips moved, and I 
thought I would have given worlds to know 
what they would utter. After a few mo- 
ments' silence, he exerted himself again, 
and we understood him to ask that there 
might be prayers. I kneeled down, with 
his hand still in mine, and commended his 
spirit, in such words as I was able, to the 
great Father of mercy. It was a solemn 
moment. There was a silence and awe 
like that of the tomb, interrupted only by 
the laborious breathing of the dying man, 
and the low voice of youthful supplication. 
When I had ended, he pressed my hand, 
but said nothing. We feared that he would 
not speak again ; but it was permitted us 
to hear his last words distinctly. For, when 
something had been said respecting the 
good man's support in death, he spoke out 
audibly, " The testimony of conscience, 
and the mercy of God." This was his last 



76 

effort. We stood silently watching for his 
departing breath, when, as the sun was go- 
ing down, its beams forced their way 
through an opening amid the branches of 
the thick trees which grew before the win- 
dows, and fell full upon his face. A smile 
came over his countenance, and, before it 
had entirely passed away, he ceased to 
breathe. I remembered his conversation on 
the preceding evening, and rejoiced at his 
quiet departure. 

When it was known that their pastor was 
actually dead, all those of his parishioners 
who had not retired to their homes, pressed 
into the house to take a last look of one 
whom they had loved and reverenced so 
much. Not a word was spoken by any one 
in the chamber of death. The silent gaze, 
the tearful eye, and the cautious tread, 
evinced the impression which was upon ev- 
ery heart, and the feeling of awe with which 
the sleep of the patriarch was contemplated. 

My own feelings during these scenes it 
is impossible for me to describe. But I 
have always felt that I had reason to thank 
God for appointing me to open my ministry 



77 

in so singular and affecting a manner. The 
serenity of aged piety, and the peace of a 
christian death-bed, gave me impressions 
which helped still more to prepare me for 
my work. I am certain that for years this 
day was present almost constantly to my 
mind, and endowed me with courage, forti- 
tude, and spirituality, which I might not 
otherwise have attained. 



CHAPTER XL 

It was in less than a year after this, that I 
found myself occupying the place of that 
venerable old man, of whose last hours I had 
been so unexpectedly the attendant. It may 
readily be conceived,, that with no ordina- 
ry feelings I took possession of the pulpit 
where I had heard the expiring sounds of 
his ministry, and seated myself in the room 
where he had studied, and at the table upon 
which he had leaned and written for half a 
century. To my ardent view, every thing 
about me was sacred. I fancied there was 
inspiration in the very walls, and that I in- 
7* 



78 

haled a good spirit from the very air in 
which the holy man had breathed. And 
while I studied in his books, and dipped 
my pen in his inkstand, — while I read from 
his Bible in the family circle which he had 
left, and in which I was a boarder, and 
stood up to offer their daily devotions on 
the spot which his prayers had consecrated, 
I am sure that I felt a glow in my heart 
which more important circumstances have 
oftentimes been incapable of producing ; — 
but which was nevertheless highly favoura- 
ble toward forming a frame of thought and 
feeling suited to my vocation. Indeed it 
rarely happens to a young man to begin the 
arduous work of the ministry under happi- 
er auspices. The circumstances of my lot 
and education had been so ordered, as 
constantly to excite and keep fresh the re- 
ligious sentiment. It had not been suffer- 
ed to become, as in many, drowsy and dull ; 
but had been stirred and animated by the 
frequent remarkable scenes through which 
I had passed. The manner of my introduc- 
tion to my parish, was calculated to revive 
and strengthen in no common degree, all 



79 

the feelings I had ever experienced, and alt 
the resolutions I had ever made, in relation 
to the great duties of personal and pastoral 
religion. I cannot recall to mind this pe- 
riod, without an expression of devout grati- 
tude to Him who appointed my lot, and in 
whose strength I have toiled on to this day. 
I have seen some of my brethren disheart- 
ened and sinking beneath their load, the 
victims of a sickly sensibility ; some miser- 
able in their work, because their hearts 
were not engaged in it ; and some losing 
their reputation and usefulness through in- 
dolence. But for myself, being always 
possessed of bodily health, and heartily at- 
tached to my duties, I never have found them 
burdensome or fatiguing. And I may say 
that I never have found them so to any, 
except those who have wanted the spirit of 
their office. How shall I cease then, to be 
thankful for the early instruction of those 
kind parents, and the severe infliction of 
that youthful discipline, which formed in 
me inclinations and desires which nothing 
could have gratified, but the labours of the 
sacred office ! They have been my pleasure ; 



80 

and nothing else would have afforded me 
pleasure. 

I soon found, however, that there is much 
to damp the ardour of enthusiastic expec- 
tation, with which a young man, ignorant 
of the world, enters upon his career. I can 
hardly help sighing, now, when I call to mind 
the early destruction of many fair visions, 
which were cruelly dissipated by my further 
acquaintance with mankind ; and the 
severe and mortifying rebukes, by which my 
open hearted inexperience learned prudence 
and caution. It was a great shock to me 
to discover, so soon as I did, the necessity 
of distrusting appearances. This was one 
of the first lessons which I learned by in- 
tercourse with my parish, — perhaps one of 
the most important I ever learned. Cer- 
tainly none has influenced me more in my 
whole life since ; none perhaps has made 
me at times so unhappy. 

Like other young persons, I trusted to 
the good show which any one made, and 
confided implicitly in all that any one might 
say of himself. I delighted in the warm 
expression of religious feeling, « and was 



81 

ready to give up my heart to it, wherever I 
might find it. I could not believe that 
zealous profession could be made by any 
who was insincere at heart. It was a great 
blow to me to be undeceived. 

There were few men in town more assi- 
duous and kind in their attentions to me, 
after my ordination, than Josiah Dunbar. 
He recommended himself by his punctual 
attendance at meeting, and by his fondness 
to call upon me and converse on religious 
subjects. He entered fully into the history 
of his own experience, and drew from me 
the relation of my own. His appearance 
was austere, his manners simple and solemn, 
his voice a little whining, and his eyes were 
cast in humility upon the ground. His age 
was about Mty ; and I thought that no young 
man was ever so blest in the confidence and 
advice of a devout parishioner. 

I found however, that he was not popular 
in the village ; and that the worldly, sober 
part of the inhabitants, especially, spoke of 
him rather slightingly. This grieved me ; 
but I accounted for it by a remark which 
he himself once, or rather often made, with 



82 

a deep sigh and solemn shake of the head, 
— " Ah, there is nothing that the world can 
find lovely in the children of God. They 
are always despised and trodden upon." — 
My experience has since taught me that 
this is far from being true. But at that 
time I took it for an established fact, and 
when I found any commendatory remark 
which I made respecting Mr Dunbar, re- 
ceived in silence or with a sneer, I imputed 
it to the natural dislike of men to superior 
goodness. 

Ere long, however, I observed some 
things in his conversation which I myself 
disliked. He was too fond, I thought, of 
complaining of the want of religion in others, 
and of the great coolness of church members* 
There was doubtless room for complaint in 
many instances, but he was too frequent and 
petulant, and spoke too sarcastically of 
good moral lives. Now I could see no 
harm in a good moral life, and once told 
him, " that I did not think it so much against 
a man, that he was a moral man ; that I 
rather thought it the part of charity to be- 
lieve that what we cannot see is as good as 



83 

what we do see, and that what we do see 
is, really, though not visibly, grounded on 
right principle." He was dissatisfied with 
this remark, and ever after affected to be 
concerned lest I was resting too much on 
works. He thought that I preached "works" 
too much ; and he harassed me often with 
minor questions about justification, and faith, 
and righteousness. All this however was 
done in the kindest way imaginable, and 
with so earnest appearance of desiring my 
good and that of the church, that, although 
I thought he urged matters a little too much, 
yet my respect for him and love to him 
rather increased than diminished. No man 
had made me so much his confidant, and 
consequently no man was so much mine. 
What he proved to be finally, I will tell in 
the next chapter. 



CHAPTER XII. 

It was the universal custom of the people 
in the strait days of my youth, to keep the 
annual day of fasting literally, so far as to 



abstain from a dinner. Nothing was eaten 
between breakfast and sun-down, except, 
perchance, a light luncheon, in the interval 
between the morning and evening services. 
It was not uncommon, however, to com- 
pensate for this extraordinary abstinence, 
by a supper as extraordinary ; and the meat 
and pudding which had been refused at 
noon, were devoured with a keener appe- 
tite in the evening. It was thought that 
the whole duty was performed, if the body 
were but mortified during day-light. 

There were some in my parish who had 
departed from this custom. Mr Dunbar 
came to me in the week preceding fast, in 
the spring following my ordination, lament- 
ing the decay of ancient manners, and beg- 
ging me to urge, in my next sermon, the im- 
portance of a literal fast. He said much of 
the aid which devout men had derived from 
it in all ages, the profoundness it gave to 
their contemplations, and how it aided their 
prayers, and spiritual-mindedness ; he in- 
sisted that self-mortification was necessary 
to growth in grace, and that we were in 
danger, from employing it too little, of be- 



85 

coming entirely devoted to our animal and 
sensual nature. 

I replied, that I had no doubt of all this, 
and that such had been, and would be, the 
efficacy of fasting, when it was voluntary. 
He that will, from religious motives, and 
the desire of holy meditation, deny his ap- 
petite, and spend his dining hour in devo- 
tion, will, unquestionably, find it profitable. 
But, if the fast be kept by compulsion, or 
from no better motive at bottom, than be- 
cause it is the custom, — then it will probably 
be unprofitable, and will hinder, instead of 
promoting the devotion of the day. Be- 
sides,! added, temperance is abetter aid to 
the powers of the mind than abstinence ; 
and moreover, they who abstain at noon 
are very likely to revel at night, and in that 
case, whatever good may have been 
wrought, is more than lost. Mr Dunbar 
said he was aware that the day oftentimes 
ended in festivity and indulgence ; but for 
his part, he abhorred it ; in his own family, 
the supper was always frugal and religious ; 
and he wished that I would attack this cry- 
ing sin as well as the other. 



86 

u Or at least," said he, coming at last to 
the point at which he had all along been 
aiming, " if you do not think right to preach, 
I wish you would speak a word of quiet ad- 
vice to Mr Ellerton ; for his example goes 
a great way ; and it is a sinful thing that 
he should cook and eat on fast day just as 
on any other day. He makes no difference 
in the world. And what will become of 
religion and the church, if such men are 
to lead astray the simple people by their 
example ? A good moral man, to be sure, 
and the world speaks well of him. But no 
man can say that he has ever experienced 
religion, and I am sure, for one, that he is 
an Arian at heart, if not a Deist. Indeed, 
I think he ought to be brought before the 
church, and not tolerated in quiet any long- 
er. There is no knowing what mischief 
his example may do ; and our fidelity to the 
Head of the Church requires that we cut 
him off." 

Mr Dunbar had more than once before 
spoken to the prejudice of Mr Ellerton, but 
never so explicitly as now. I did not alto- 
gether like the tone in which he continued 



37 

to enlarge, and at last replied, that even if 
I thought lukewarmness and suspected er- 
rour proper subjects of church interference, 
yet I was too much a stranger in the place, 
to promote any such objects now. And as 
for the matter of fasting, I could not inter- 
fere at all ; for I intended myself to take 
my usual meals. 

He left me evidently disappointed. On 
the day of the fast, there was observed in 
him a studied appearance of rigour and 
melancholy, and every external manifesta- 
tion of suffering for sin, and absorption in 
divine meditation. He was of a " sad coun- 
tenance and disfigured his face." In the 
evening — according, as it was ascertained, 
to his usual custom — a sumptuous supper 
was provided. He ate and drank to excess., 
and died the next day in consequence of the 
surfeit. 

The shock my mind received on learning 
these circumstances, may be easily conceiv- 
ed ; much more so when the whole history 
and character of the man were revealed. 
He was discovered to have been altogeth- 
er unprincipled in his transactions with men, 



88 

artful, and fraudulent, and sensual ; so that, 
in a word, for I cannot enlarge on so un- 
pleasant a theme, his name became a by- 
word in the village, and never was spoken 
but with an accent of indignation. Yet so 
great had been the cunning of the man, 
that he had both escaped detection, and had 
passed, for the most part, though not alto- 
gether, without suspicion. There was but 
one person who thoroughly knew him, and 
that was Mr Ellerton. When I learned 
this, I perceived at once the cause of his 
ill will to that gentleman. 

Mr Ellerton was one of the principal citi- 
zens of the place, and in most respects the 
very reverse of Mr Dunbar. He was, like 
all other respectable men of that day, a 
professor of religion. But no man could 
be less anxious about its form. He appear- 
ed with a dress and countenance and speech 
like those of other gentlemen. He seldom 
made religion the subject of conversation, 
and was generally supposed not to be fond 
of reading the scriptures, and not to have 
devotions in his family. He was suspect- 
ed also of not being quite sound in the 



faith. He was esteemed precisely what is 
called a good moral man. Very few would 
venture to call him a religious man, though 
he was punctual at church, and friendly to 
the ministry. But then he was proverbial 
for his truth, integrity, and kindness, and 
"every virtue under heaven." No man 
could be more universally respected and 
beloved. 

I did not at this time know so much of 
him, for my ear had been poisoned by Dun- 
bar. I had been led to look upon him 
coolly, and to avoid rather than seek his 
company. I had, consequently, in the 
seven months of my ministry, become hardly 
in any degree acquainted with him. The 
circumstances of Mr Dunbar's death led 
me to suspect the correctness of my im- 
pressions, and made me solicitous of great- 
er intimacy with Mr Ellerton. 

I soon discovered and admired the puri- 
ty and firmness of his moral principle. But 
I wished to go further, and ascertain the 
state of his religious sentiments and affec- 
tions. When we had become well acquaint- 
ed, and were together by ourselves, I found 
8* 



90 

him ready and pleased to converse frankly, 
I immediately found that he was indeed an 
Arian ; and as I had always been taught, 
without knowing why, to look with horror 
on Arianism, as little better than infidelity, 
and to take it for granted that there could 
be no religion at heart without the worship 
of the trinity ; I thought that I saw at once 
how it happened that he wore no show of 
religion,-for he certainly could possess none; 
that is, none of its fervour, life, and spiritu- 
ality ; nothing of it but its decent, every day 
morality. 

But a more intimate acquaintance taught 
me, that he was no stranger to the holiest 
and tenderest feelings of piety ; that he had 
experienced deeply the inward power of 
the gospel, and acknowledged it as a religion 
of the affections. So that, in a word, it has 
seldom fallen to my lot to know a soul of 
more elevated, expanded, and heavenly- 
minded religion, than dwelt within the frame 
of that unobtrusive man : giving direction 
and beauty to his whole life, but itself un- 
seen and unheard in any separate or osten- 
tatious display. 



91 

The observation of these two characters 
furnished me with much matter for reflection, 
It made me ever after cautious, and distrust- 
ful of appearances, to a degree that was even 
painful. I learned to be jealous of lip reli- 
gion, and cold toward those who were for- 
ward in profession. Nay, I was beset with 
an indefinable reserve/which sealed my lips, 
and checked the current of my feelings^ 
whenever the subject of religion was touched 
by strangers, destroying much of the comfort 
and satisfaction I had hitherto enjoyed in re- 
ligious conversation. How much have I suf- 
fered from this cause ! while nothing that I 
have gained has been able to compen- 
sate for the quietness and peace of the 
unsuspecting temper which I have lost. I 
think, however, that I have gained some- 
thing by teaching myself and others to lay 
the stress upon the solid excellence of a good 
life. The longer I have lived, the more 
have I been persuaded that this is the great 
end of human endeavour^ and the great 
touch-stone by which we are to judge one 
another, The heart zee cannot see ; it must 
he left to the judgment of God* But where- 



92 

ever the life is uniformly and consistently 
good, I have learned to consider it as the 
part of charity to suppose that the heart al- 
so is right. I have been unable to join in 
the outcry against moral lives, as if they 
were, of course, signs of a worldly heart. I 
have thought it mischievous : I may say I 
have found it mischievous. Religion is 
helped by maintaining the dignity and im- 
portance of good works ; yea, even though 
they stand by themselves. But it is injured 
if they be sneered at and defamed, because, 
however you may explain and qualify, many 
will understand you to say, that if there be 
faith and zeal, a good life is at best of only 
secondary importance. They will therefore 
make only secondary attempts to attain it. 
How many souls have been ruined in hy- 
pocrisy and spiritual pride, through this 
mistake ! 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Mr Ellerton, of whom I spoke in the last 
chapter, was another added to the number of 



93 

the "excellent of the earth," whom it had been 
my privilege to know. Some of the peculiar- 
ities of his religious faith, and those in pretty 
important particulars, were widely different, 
I had reason to think, from those of any 
other good man I had met with. He did 
not believe in a tri-personal Deity ; and 
this was a sort of unbelief, which I, like ten 
thousand others, looked upon with a vague 
sort of horror, I knew not whence nor why. 
For a long time, therefore, I could not be- 
lieve that he was really so good a christian 
as he seemed to be ; and when it was im- 
possible to doubt this, my next conclusion 
very naturally was, that Trinitarianism, 
though the truth, yet could not be essential 
to the christian, for here was a christian 
without it. This discovery did a great deal 
to set me a thinking and to enlarge my 
views. But its best and happiest conse- 
quence was, to confirm me in my persuasion, 
that the great practical and vital principles 
of our religion are common to all believers. 
From this persuasion I have never varied. 
Experience has every year confirmed it ; 
and it is still one of the most comforting 



94 

convictions of my heart. I look forward 
with the most delightful anticipations to the 
day, when I shall join in one commu- 
nion the souls of those many good men, 
whom I have honoured and loved here, but 
from whose fellowship I have been shut out, 
by the miserable bars whicj^Htudice and 
pride have put up amid tne*Jrturehes on 
earth. 

But another important consequence was, 
that, not finding Arianism the monstrous 
thing I had imagined it, but, on the contrary, 
consistent with every christian grace, I was 
led to look upon it with complacency. I felt 
ashamed of the prejudice I had suffered 
myself to entertain. I felt mortified and 
humbled that I should have permitted my- 
self to gather from the wholesale censures 
of books, and the sweeping sneers of con- 
versation, an inimical impression against 
the holders of an opinion of which I knew 
nothing. This was the precise fact. I did 
know nothing, absolutely nothing, about 
them. I had examined other opinions, but 
not this. To this I had never turned my 
attention ; had never asked a question about 



95 

it, but had gone on in the way my father 
taught me, taking it for granted that I was 
right, and not so much as troubled with a sug- 
gestion that it was possible I might be wrong. 
I recollect perfectly well the first time the 
thought occurred to me. It was when I had 
become well acquainted with Mr Ellerton's 
character, and had been striving in vain to re- 
concile it with his anti-christian creed. The 
question seemed to be asked me, how do 
you know it is anti-christian ? I felt at once 
that I did not know, for I never had inquired. 
I cannot describe the sensation which pass- 
ed over me, as this thought flashed through 
my mind. A cold thrill went through my 
frame, a tumult of thoughts crowded and 
agitated my mind. I soon felt that it was 
my duty to inquire, and know that whereof 
I would affirm ; and in great anxiety of mind, 
and earnest supplication for heavenly guid- 
ance, I at once entered upon the investi- 
gation. 

The first discovery I made, was one, 
which has been made by multitudes besides, 
but which filled me with inexpressible sur- 
prise. It was, that I was not, and never 



96 

had been a trinitarian. When I came to 
see the definitions and explanations of the 
doctrine, and compared them with the state 
of my own mind, I found that T had used 
its language, but had never adopted its 
meaning. I had fallen into its use, just as I 
had fallen into the common lanoracfe of men 
about the rising and setting of the sun — not 
because 1 believed what the words literally 
imply, but because it was the phraseology 
in common use where I lived. Trinitarian 
doxologies I had employed, — because I had 
always heard them from childhood ; but I 
found that I had never affixed to them trini- 
tarian notions. I found that I never had 
worshipped any being, but the Father of 
Jesus Christ, and that all my religious feel- 
ings were grounded on the supposition of 
his single divinity. 

So then, I thought to myself, I have been 
guilty of contemning and denouncing a sen- 
timent, which all the time I ignorantly held ; 
and of thoughtlessly using language which 
implied a faith different from my actual 
opinion. This discovery humbled me to 
the dust. I could scarcely bear the burden 



97 

of shame and reproach which my con- 
science heaped upon me. I have since found 
that this thoughtlessness is by no means 
uncommon. Inexcusable as it is, yet many 
have I known in precisely the same situa- 
tion with myself. Indeed I have reason to 
believe that the large majority of those ed- 
ucated in the orthodox faith, are no more 
truly orthodox than I was, though they im- 
agine themselves to be so ; and I have ac- 
cordingly found that when they allow them- 
selves to look fairly into the matter, they 
discover themselves to have been unitarians 
all their lives without knowing it. 

Had I been acquainted with this fact at 
the time of which I speak, it would have 
saved me much unhappiness. As it was, I 
had a long and painful labour to go through, 
in ascertaining whether my language or my 
opinions were the truth of revelation on this 
subject. The one or the other must neces- 
sarily be rejected as wrong. For two years 
I pursued the inquiry with all the anxiety 
and impartiality of a conscientious mind. 
It would take too much room to detail the 
progress of my experience at this time. 
9 



98 

Suffice it to say, that I obtained complete 
satisfaction at last, and have been ever since 
happy in the simplicity and consistency of 
my Unitarian belief. I have known many 
pass through the same process, with an 
equally happy result ; and many, I may add, 
with a result still more happy, because their 
minds were relieved by it from the distres- 
sing burden of other ungenerous doctrines, 
which had preyed upon their spirits and 
disquieted their lives, but from whose bond- 
age I had been redeemed some time earli- 
er. I cannot but remark here, how much 
is effected by the light of a good conversa- 
tion. I was set on thinking and won to 
the knowledge of the truth, by observing 
one man's christian deportment. It would 
be well if christians were generally aware 
that they can produce no so powerful argu- 
ment in their favour, as a holy life. Thou- 
sands will understand it and be convinced 
by it, whom no reasoning, though it were 
demonstrative, would at all affect. "Let 
your light so shine before men, that they 
may see your good works, and glorify your 
Father who is in heaven." 



99 



CHAPTER XIV. 



It was in the summer of , that Mr 

Garstone took up his residence in our vil- 
lage. It occasioned no little surprise and 
speculation in that retired place, to find a 
stranger of education and property, select- 
ing it for his abode. He built a commodi- 
ous but small house upon a little hillock by 
the side of a beautiful pond, which lay 
about a mile from the meeting-house. I 
never had seen him, but as soon as he had 
taken possession of his place, I felt it my 
duty to call and bid him welcome. 

The room into which I entered, impres- 
sed me at once with respect for the owner 
of the mansion, and as I cast my eyes round 
on its neat and elegant comforts, I thought 
I saw indications of taste and refinement 
beyond any thing to which 1 had been ac- 
customed. A piano forte, a rarer luxury 
then than now, stood open on one side, and 
opposite to it a book case, well and hand- 
somely filled. I could give but a hasty look 
when Mr Garstone entered. He was ap- 



100 

parently about fifty years of age, thin and 
pale, with a settled melancholy upon his 
countenance, which sometimes approxima- 
ted to sternness ; and a manner reserved 
and cold. His appearance rather repres- 
sed the warmth with which I was disposed 
to greet him ; and after several ineffectual 
attempts to throw off the restraint his man- 
ner imposed, I left him, disappointed and 
sad. 

I looked in vain for his entrance to the 
meeting house on Sunday, though his two 
daughters were there. They were dressed in 
deep mourning ; and this I thought account- 
ed for their father's manners, though he had 
made no allusion to any affliction. I soon 
visited him again, and gradually we became 
a little acquainted. His wife, I found, had 
died about ten months previous ; he had 
lost his only son just before, and had now 
bid farewell to the world, intending to 
spend the remainder of life with his daugh- 
ters in retirement. He attended to their 
education, he studied and read, and amus- 
ed himself with the cultivation of his lands. 
He had an extensive acquaintance with 



101 

books and subjects, and oftentimes would 
delight me with his animated and intelligent 
conversation. I derived much instruction 
from his society, and he seemed to take 
pleasure in mine. But all attempts to in- 
troduce religious conversation he uniformly 
set aside ; and never attended public wor- 
ship. This made me uneasy ; and I longed 
to know why it was, that a man who was 
evidently unhappy, was yet willing to be a 
voluntary stranger to the consolations of 
religion. 

It was not so with his daughters. They 
were uninstructed in religion, but they took 
an interest in it. Indeed, as far as they had 
been taught, they felt its great truths deeply, 
and exercised a profound piety. They were 
glad to converse, when it happened — which 
was very seldom — that their father was not 
present ; and 1 often thought that their 
countenances expressed sorrow, that the 
subject must be dropped on his entrance. 
I one day expressed my surprise to them, 
that their father should habitually absent 
himself from public worship. They replied 
that it had been so ever since their memory; 
9* 



102 

and that they believed he did it from prin- 
ciple. 

" Has he no sense of its importance and 
value," said I ; " does he feel nothing, think 
?, of the great truths of religion ?" 

" Alas," replied the eldest, whose name 
was Charlotte, " I fear he thinks but too 
much, arid feels too much. I have reason to 
suppose, although he never speaks of it, that 
it is this which lies at the bottom of his 
unhappiness, and that if this burden could 
be removed, he would be a cheerful and hap- 
py man." 

I looked at her for explanation. " Unre- 
flecting men," said she, " may be happy 
without religious faith ; for their habitual 
thoughtlessness excludes the subject from 
their minds. But a man who is in habits 
of reflection, and who cannot keep from his 
mind the thoughts of the Author of his be- 
ing, and the great concerns of futurity, must 
be often wretched without a settled faith." 

" It is true, then," said I, " what I have 
suspected, that your father is not a believ- 
er in the Christian religion ?" 

" It is," she replied ; " and to you who 



103 

know him, this will account for all his ap- 
pearance and habits. For how can such a 
man, who longs and pants for the refuge of 
its truths, be happy without them ? He 
may have every thing else ; but the want of 
these will leave an aching void, which 
nothing else can fill. O what a blessed 
day it would be to us all, which should 
make him a believer ! He has every thing 
else to render himself and us happy ; but for 
want of this, there is a bitter taste to every 
enjoyment, and discontent in every scene." 

" Is he not aware of the cause of his dis- 
satisfaction ?" I asked. 

" He is," replied Charlotte, " and yet he 
is not. That is to say, he acknowledges 
the power of the Christian faith in others, 
and I believe is truly happy that we possess 
it. But he will not allow that it would do 
any thing for himself. He insists that in 
his literary and philosophical pursuits, he 
has all the satisfaction that the human mind 
can attain, and that nothing could add to 
his happiness. But it is very seldom he 
speaks on the subject. Indeed he is so strong- 
ly prejudiced that we avoid any allusion to 



104 

it altogether. For I think he is the more 
violently positive from the very feeling he 
has, that there is an essential thing wanting. 
He tries in this way to stifle his feelings, and 
to convince himself that he wants nothing." 

" I have seen something like this," said 
I, " in other cases ; but I should not sus- 
pect it in your father. How is it that he 
is thus prejudiced ?" 

" It is partly," she answered, " his mis- 
fortune, and partly his fault : His misfor- 
tune, because in early life he was thrown 
into the midst of fanaticism and bigotry, 
which disgusted him, and rendered the 
whole system incredible to him : His fault, 
because he suffered prejudice to sway him, 
and did not deliberately institute an in- 
quiry which should separate the false from 
the true, and show him that the system it- 
self may be true and excellent, notwith- 
standing the follies of its friends." 

" Can you state to me at length," said I, 
" the circumstances under which these in- 
delible impressions were made ?" 

Before Charlotte could more than com- 
mence a reply to this question, Mr Garstone 



105 

came in, and conversation took a different 
turn. I returned home, deeply interested 
in what I had heard, and anxious to hear 
more. 



CHAPTER XV. 

What I had now heard interested me too 
much to suffer me to rest until I had learned 
more. The history of Mr Garstone I found 
to be this : — He was the son of parents, 
whose religion partook of the character of 
austerity and superstition. He was educated 
in the most rigid restraint, and imbued dili- 
gently with the dogmas of the Assembly's 
Catechism. When he had grown to years 
of understanding, being of a strong mind 
and peculiarly susceptible feelings, his re- 
flections on the subject of religion became 
earnest in the extreme, and occupied him 
day and night. A fear of God, rather 
dreadful than pleasant, as he expressed it, 
had always oppressed him, and it now made 
him miserable. The doctrines which he 
had learned in childhood, he now began to 



106 

understand and reason upon, and apply to 
himself. He saw that if they were true, he 
was condemned by his birth to an eternal 
curse, whch only the re-creating grace of 
God could remove. And this grace was 
appointed to visit only a chosen few. Was 
he one of these chosen ? Should he ever 
taste this grace ? Or was he to be abandoned 
by the discriminating spirit of God to his 
horrible destiny ? 

Beneath the agony of heart which this 
personal application of his creed produced, 
he struggled long and wretchedly. His 
misery, he told me, was indescribable. His 
life for months was a burden of terror and 
fear. Every thing lost its relish in the des- 
perate attempt to gain satisfaction and hope 
from what appeared to him the sentence of 
despair — a sentence, which he was some- 
times tempted to pronounce inconsistent 
with every attribute of justice and goodness. 
But this temptation he was taught to reject 
as blasphemous, and a foul instigation of 
the devil. He strove to smother every feel- 
ing of this nature, and in spite of the clear 
demonstration, which the more he reflected 



107 

the more strongly was forced upon him, he 
compelled himself to believe, that all this 
might be so, and God still be just. In this 
tumult of contradictions, in this struggle of 
his mind to be reconciled to what he felt to 
be dreadful, and tried in vain to see to be 
right, two years of misery past away, and 
health and cheerfulness passed away with 
them. Reading, reflection, tears, prayers, 
were all in vain. The counsel of friends 
was also vain ; for his state of mind was 
a cause of congratulation to them, being, as 
they supposed, the struggle of the natural 
man in the throes of the new birth, from 
which he would come forth regenerate and 
rejoicing. They rather increased than al- 
layed his perplexity. They rebuked his 
attempts to reason on the subject, and told 
him it was vain to hope for satisfaction, ex- 
cept only in that prostrate faith, which God 
would give if he pleased, and when he 
pleased. They bade him therefore wait, 
and not be guilty of the blasphemy of trying 
God's ways by the rules of human reason. 
He did wait, but to no purpose. He 
humbled himself, and strove to quell what 



108 

was called his pride, and to believe the con- 
sistency of what appeared to him contradic- 
tory, and made it the burden of his prayer, 
that he might only find peace, and he would 
willingly sacrifice every other thing. It was 
all in vain. No peace came. But, not to 
prolong the story, the powers of his mind at 
last triumphed. He found it impossible, 
after every effort, to attribute to the 
government of God, what he had been 
taught to attribute to it. He gradually came 
to the determination that such a system 
could not be true, and he rejected it as con- 
tradicting almost every high and holy truth, 
which nature and common sense teach of 
the great Creator. 

I could not help being deeply interested 
in this history. Unhappy man, thought I, 
thus driven away from the light and com- 
forts of God's word ! How different might 
have been the result, if he had been blessed 
with early opportunities like mine ! He 
would have found help in his difficulties, as 
I did ; he would have learned, that the gos- 
pel of God's love is not implicated with 
any of those dogmas, " at which reason 



109 

stands aghast and faith herself is half con- 
founded ; n and he might have received it 
in its native beauty and uncorrupted lustre, 

" Majestic in its own simplicity," 

the ornament, support, guide, and joy of 
his soul, conducting him tr anquilly through 
life, to an everlasting hope. But of all this 
he had been deprived. He had come to reject 
the gospel, from never knowing truly its real 
character. He had thrown away its peace, 
from having a counterfeit offered in its stead. 
But though he had rid himself of this 
cause of trouble he was far from tranquility. 
His religious propensities were strong, and 
his education had been such as to associate 
ideas of the highest importance with the 
subject. His reverence for God was deep 
and habitual, his b elief in a future state 
fixed, and his conviction that God had re- 
vealed himself to the world was too deep 
rooted to be easily removed. There was 
a great deal, too, sublime and beautiful and 
delightful in the history, character, and 
teaching of Jesus, which he could not re- 
concile with his imposture, any more than 
he could reconcile the doctrines he had 
10 



110 

been taught with his truth. Here, then, 
was another distressing embarrassment. 
At length he strove to escape from it by 
avoiding the subject altogether. He put 
away his Bible, he neglected public worship, 
he involved himself in other studies and 
active pursuits, and tried to forget all he 
had ever known or thought about revealed 
religion. 

But he could not succeed. It came to 
his thoughts in spite of him, and never suf- 
fered him to be at rest. His mind often 
misgave him; he became anxious, melancholy, 
fitful, unsettled ; an unbeliever, yet longing 
to believe ; striving to think himself wiser 
and happier than others, yet secretly hoping 
he should one day be like them ; with a 
fixed abhorrence of what had been urged 
on him as the peculiar doctrines' of the gos- 
pel, yet conscious that human wisdom could 
have no light, and human weakness no hope, 
except from the declared mercy of heaven. 

Such was Mr Garstone when I knew him ; 
and I may truly say, that I never have seen 
the man more deserving of compassion ; 
nor can I imagine a more sad picture of the 



Ill 

deplorable effects of unbelief. I bent my 
knee in devout gratitude for the felicity I 
enjoyed in the glorious faith and hope of 
Christ, and breathed an earnest prayer that 
I might be enabled to heal the errors and 
comfort the spirit of this unhappy and mis- 
taken man. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

My first object was to gain the confidence 
of Mr Garstone ; for it was above all im- 
portant, that he should not be prejudiced 
against the person who would endeavour to 
remove his prejudice against the Christian 
revelation. In this attempt I had reason to 
think that I did not fail ; and having secured 
his friendship, I laid in wait for opportunity 
to use it. 

I was not long in finding one. It was 
after the death of Mr Ellerton, his friend 
and my friend. I spoke of his character, 
and of the loss we sustained in his removal, 
with the feelings of a friend, and of his 
prospect in a better world, with the hope 



112 

of a christian. I dwelt at some length on 
the assurance of our immortality, derived 
from the instructions and resurrection of 
Christ, and, with all the emphasis I could 
command, pictured the blessedness of a 
believer's hope. I could perceive that Mr 
Garstone was moved. I had touched a string 
which vibrated powerfully, to every word I 
uttered. 

" These are delightful thoughts," he said, 

after a pause ; " but " He hesitated 

and stopped. 

I took the word from his mouth. " But 
there is no assurance of this truth, except 
from the voice of revelation. All is doubt 
except from the instructions of Jesus Christ. 
His resurrection makes all clear." 

" Mr Anderson," said my friend, " my 
respect for you and for the opinions of those 
with whom I live, has always prevented me 
from obtruding my own sentiments on sub- 
jects of this nature. You cannot, however, 
be ignorant of my mind, and it were better, 
perhaps, that we should be silent where we 
cannot agree." 

I felt that this was the decisive moment; 



113 

and with a violent effort said the first thing 
that occurred to me, lest I should be unable 
to say any thing. " I know," said I, " that 
you have doubts as to the christian revela- 
tion ; but I hope they do not extend to the 
immortality of the soul. And I see not 
why we should not converse on the subject. 
I do long to know on what your doubts are 
grounded." 

" I do believe in the immortality of the 
soul," he replied ; " and for this very reason 
I cannot believe in the christian religion. 
For how can I suppose that immortal beings 
are formed by their Creator in a bondage 
so degrading and so hopeless, as your 
system teaches — from which only a small 
proportion of them can ever be rescued, 
and they only by the sufferings and death 
of the Creator himself in human form ? How 
can I imagine him to be divinely commis- 
sioned, who proclaims to me such horrors 
— and yet calls them glad tidings and a 
message of peace, though only calculated 
to harass and torment the soul, as they once 
did mine ? It is true he teaches the doc- 
trine of a future life ; but how can I believe 
10* 



114 

that life suspended on so unequal condi- 
tions ?" 

He spoke with a deep and convulsive 
emphasis, that showed how strongly he felt. 
I asked him if he saw no evidence in fav- 
our of Christ's pretensions ? 

He answered, that all the evidence in the 
world would not be sufficient to prove what 
all nature and reason contradict. " Who 
has tried to believe more than I ?" he con- 
tinued. " Who has more earnestly longed 
to believe ? and who has been more wretch- 
ed for want of believing ? Yet I might as 
as well have tried to persuade myself that 
I could walk upon a sun-beam. But it is 
all past; let us say no more about it. It is 
a subject on which I have not talked nor 
read for years. I cannot bear it." 

But now that the ice was broken and the 
first feeling over, I found him ready and 
disposed to converse, for he saw that he 
might entirely trust himself with me. I 
soon drew from him the acknowledgment, 
that there was much evidence in favour of 
the christian system, too strong to be satis- 
factorily set aside ; that the character of 



115 

Jesus was inconsistent with imposture, "and 
not less so," he added, " with the doctrines 
he taught ;" and that a revelation was in 
itself neither an incredible nor an undesir- 
able thing. 

" Then it appears," I remarked, " that 
what decides you against it is the character 
of the religion itself?" 

" Yes, together with its consequences — 
the divisions and miseries of its followers." 

" How long since you made up your 
mind in this way ?" I inquired. 

" More than twenty years," was the an- 
swer. 

" And during this period you have not 
pursued the investigation at all ?" 

No — he had avoided the subject as much 
as possible — had read no books — held no 
conversation — not once opened the Bible, 

I asked him, if he thought it safe to put 
this confidence in the decision of his youth- 
ful judgment, and to retain this obstinate 
prejudice on so momentous a subject. I 
reminded him that Christians differ in un- 
derstanding their religion ; and how could 
he tell that another interpretation of it 
would not solve all his difficulties ? 



116 

He said, that in his view this very circum- 
stance destroyed all its claims to the cer- 
tainty of a divine origin ; for if God should 
teach men, he would do it clearly, and leave 
no room to doubt his meaning. 

I gave the obvious and satisfactory solu- 
tion of this difficulty, drawn from the mor- 
al nature and probationary state of man; 
and then went on with the topic I had com- 
menced. I endeavoured to show him, that 
the objections he felt to the christian system 
were, in fact, objections only to a certain 
mode of interpreting that system ; and that 
therefore he had no right to reject it, unless 
he had satisfied himself from faithful in- 
quiry, that this was the only true interpreta- 
tion. " For myself," said I, u I freely de- 
clare that I think it a very erroneous inter- 
pretation. I have hardly less dislike to it, 
than you have yourself. I think it an incredi- 
ble system. But I still receive the instruc- 
tions of Jesus with the greatest delight and 
comfort. You have shut yourself out from 
these, by taking the representations of your 
catechism for a true picture of the Bible, 
and never doing yourself the justice to as- 



117 

certain whether they were so or not." I 
went on to expostulate on the unreasona- 
bleness of this conduct ; I illustrated at 
large my own views of the christian faith ; 
I explained to him their consistency with 
the noblest reason and the best affections, 
with all we delight to think concerning God, 
and all we ought to do as moral agents ; 
and I entreated him by all that is dear and 
sacred, to open his mind once more to in- 
quiry, to read the scriptures again, and try 
to welcome Jesus as the way, the truth and 
the life. 

I was very earnest, and I did not speak 
in vain. Mr Garstone once more opened 
the book, which he had thrown by so long, 
and read it with the sober judgment of ma- 
ture life ; not interpreting it, as before, by 
the standard of Westminster, but by the light 
of a careful and sound comparison of itself 
with itself. Long and zealously he studied. 
Other matters were neglected, other studies 
put aside. Light on this great question he 
longed for, and he sought after it far and near. 
He did not pause till his mind settled in a 
firm conviction of the truth ; and with de- 



118 

vout and happy faith he could exclaim, / 
believe that thou art the Christ, the Son 
of the living God. And he was able after- 
ward, to add, Though I die with thee, yet 
will I not deny thee. 

From this time he was an altered man. 
The change cannot be described, but it 
was evident in every habit of his life and 
every feature of his face. His mind was 
at peace. He was happy. Often has he 
described to me the relief which he'felt, as if 
a heavy burden were removed from his soul ; 
and instead of leaving the world a distress- 
ed and obstinate unbeliever, he died tran- 
quilly, triumphant in faith, rejoicing in hope. 

I have met with other instances not un- 
like this ; and I find it refreshing to my 
soul, as the shadows of death approach, to 
reflect that the faith which supports me, 
I have known to vanquish confirmed infi- 
delity, and bring home to the Saviour those 
who had been wanderers from his peace. 
So let it support me in that hour ! 



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